,. 


•JBoofca  by  JFrrteririi  ©rin  -fiartlttt 

PUBLISHED  BY 

fcHOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

JOAN  &  CO. 

ONE  YEAR  OF   PIERROT.     Illustrated. 

THE  TRIFLERS.    Illustrated. 

THE  WALL  STREET  GIRL.    Illustrated. 

JOAN   OF  THE  ALLEY.    Illustrated. 


JOAN  &  CO. 


JOAN  &  CO. 


FREDERICK  ORIN  BARTLETT 


BOSTON   AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
<«K  Rtoertfbe  preft  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,   1919,  BY  FMDERICK  OWN  BAKTLETT 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESEHVKD 


TO 

R.  S.  B. 


2134414 


CONTENTS 

I.  DICKY  is  SERIOUS    .      .      .      ...      .      i 

II.  JOAN  is  BORED 12 

III.  CHANCE       .      .      .      ...      .....      .22 

IV.  THE  DRIVER  AND  FATE      .  .      .      .      .      .35 

V.  BANDAGED 42 

VI.  WHOSE  FAULT? 51 

VII.  A  LETTER 64 

'  VIII.  DICKY  CALLS 71 

IX.  THE  FIGHTING  THINGS 82 

X.  AT  HOME -    93 

XI.  THE  SILENT  PARTNER 104 

XII.  JOAN  &  Co.        .      .' ,  .  118 

XIII.  A  CHALLENGE    . 134 

XIV.  PUMPKIN  PIE 142 

XV.  LIKE  NAPOLEON       . 146 

XVI.  THE  DEVONS  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY      .  152 

XVII.  UPTOWN  AND  DOWNTOWN 161 

XVIII.  BEEF  TEA 173 

XIX.  PRINCESSES 183 

XX.  THE  FASTER  GAME 198 

XXL  A  CONFESSION 206 

XXII.  A  SALE  .  212 


viii  CONTENTS 

XXIII.  No  TIME  TO  WASTE 222 

XXIV.  A  VACATION 228 

XXV.  DANGER 235 

XXVI.  A  NEW  STENOGRAPHER 245 

XXVII.  REAL  NEWS       .      .      .      .      .      .      .257 

XXVIII.  THE  BIG  HOUR 270 

XXIX.  A  STRAIGHT  TIP 281 

XXX.  BANKRUPT 295 

XXXI.  DISCHARGED 305 

XXXII.  GOLF     . 311 

XXXIII.  THE  BIG  CHANCE 317 

XXXIV.  A  BUSY  MAN 333 

XXXV.  LOVE 344 

XXXVI.  THE  DAY  COMES 351 

XXXVII.  BACK  HOME 364 

XXXVIII.  THE  LAST  ACT  .      .      .      .      .      .      .  373 


JOAN  &  CO. 


Joan  &  Co. 

CHAPTER  I  , 

DICKY  IS  SERIOUS 

THE  New  York  social  season  in  which  Miss 
Joan  Fairburne  made  her  debut  was  not 
more  than  half  finished  before  the  quizzical  smile 
in  the  dark  eyes,  half  closed  above  a  slightly  up- 
turned, dainty  nose,  which  gave  her  an  air  of 
amused  boredom  at  first  so  fascinating  to  Dicky 
Burnett,  became,  instead  of  an  occasional  expres- 
sion, rather  more  frequent  than  befitted  a  young 
woman  of  twenty.  Also  it  was  rather  too  inclusive 
to  be  complimentary.  As  long  as  it  was  directed 
merely  in  a  general  way  at  the  assembled  company 
at  the  dansant  or  box  party  or  cards  or  dance,  Dicky 
fell  in  with  it,  and,  his  long  legs  crossed  before  him 
and  his  arms  folded  over  his  chest,  he  assumed  an 
air  of  weary  submission  which  he  was  sure  estab- 
lished between  him  and  Miss  Fairburne  a  bond  of 
common  lack  of  interest.  But  when  those  same 
dark  eyes  with  their  long  lashes  began  to  turn  also 
in  his  direction,  as  he  made  his  gay  comments  in- 
tended to  cause  her  to  nod  sympathetically,  but 
which  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  he  grew  uncomfort- 


2  t  JOAN  &  CO. 

able.  It  was  as  if  she  brushed  him  into  the  pile 
with  the  others. 

It  was  the  more  humiliating  because  he  realized 
that  the  girl  was  sincere.  She  was  startlingly  and 
delightfully  sincere.  He  had  known  her  now  for  two 
years;  first  as  one  of  twenty  girls  at  Wellesley  when 
he  was  a  junior  at  Harvard ;  then,  when  he  was  a 
senior,  as  one  of  a  half-dozen;  then,  in  these  last  few 
months  after  graduation,  when  he  was  not  anything 
in  particular,  as  one  of  two  or  three  girls;  and 
finally,  within  a  week,  as  the  girl. 

She  did  not  know  this  yet,  and  every  time  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  tell  her  he  hesitated.  This  was 
not  because  he  lacked  courage  or  experience.  He 
had  never  actually  asked  any  one  to  marry  him, 
but  he  had  come  so  near  it  once  or  twice  on  especial 
occasions  —  such  as  certain  moonlight  nights  on 
that  yachting  trip  he  had  taken  two  summers  be- 
fore with  Haywood,  and  again  on  a  week-end  with 
Benton  when  he  met  the  fascinating  widow  — 
that  he  realized  that  only  abstention  from  the  eas- 
ily spoken  words  had  saved  him.  And  always  by 
the  next  morning  he  was  congratulating  himself. 

This  time,  however,  it  was  different;  the  next 
morning  he  was  blaming  himself.  Reviewing  the 
evening  before  in  the  luxurious  quiet  of  the  suite 
of  rooms  which  ever  since  he  was  seventeen  had 
been  set  apart  for  him  in  his  father's  home,  he 
thought  of  all  the  things  he  might  have  said  to  her 


>  JO  AN  &  CO.  3 

and  had  not  said,  and  damned  himself  for  one  who 
had  not  made  the  most  of  a  rare  opportunity.. 

Last  night  the  Devereaux  ballroom  had  been 
close  with  the  crush  that  filled  it  —  it  was  like  a 
room  overcrowded  with  flowers  —  and  she  had 
begged  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  It  was  January, 
but  Burnett  remembered  the  way  to  the  little 
courtyard,  and,  finding  her  wrap  and  overshoes, 
had  led  her  to  the  tiny  snow-dusted  inclosure 
beneath  the  white  stars.  He  had  taken  her  arm, 
and  they  walked  back  and  forth  in  the  frosty  night 
with  the  music  coming  to  them  muffled.  It  was 
a  pretty  scene  —  a  niche  from  another  world, 
bounded  by  a  high  wall,  with  the  subdued  light 
from  the  big  windows  cutting  yellow  across  the 
snow,  and  above  them  the  illimitable  purple.  He 
had  seen  her  lift  her  face  —  her  earnest,  eager  face, 
her  beautiful  half  girl,  half  woman  face;  her  tender 
yet  haughty  face  with  its  keen  black  eyes  and  its 
fine  mouth.  She  had  stood  so  for  a  moment  very 
erect  like  a  princess  challenging  the  stars  them- 
selves, and  breathing  deep  of  some  clearer  air  above. 
He  should  have  seized  her  then  in  his  arms.  He 
should  have  made  her  listen  to  his  words  of  love. 
He  should  have  told  her  how,  with  everything  else 
in  the  world  a  man  could  crave,  not  having  her  he 
had  nothing.  He  should  have  told  her  how  now 
she  stood  out  among  all  the  women  in  the  world 
as  the  woman.  And  yet  he  had  said  nothing.  He 


4  r  JOAN  &  co. 

had  watched  her  in  awe  and  said  nothing.  His 
heart  beating  in  his  throat,  he  had  been  as  tongue- 
tied  as  any  freshman.  Ass  that  he  was ! 

Dicky  Burnett  continued,  with  variations,  to  libel 
himself  in  this  fashion  all  the  while  he  dressed.  To 
tell  the  truth,  however,  he  by  no  means  looked  the 
part  he  assigned  to  himself.  He  was  rather  good- 
looking  from  either  a  man's  or  a  woman's  point  of 
view.  Tall,  lean,  clean-cut,  with  an  intelligent  and 
good-humored  face  suggesting  in  the  nose  and 
mouth  elements  of  real  strength,  he  was  distin- 
guished in  appearance  above  the  average  of  his 
fellows.  Offhand  one  would  have  said  he  would 
make  a  good  soldier.  Men  would  not  hesitate  to 
follow  him  because  he  would  not  hesitate  to  lead, 
given  a  goal  he  considered  worth  reaching.  Well, 
he  had  one  now.  Then  why  the  devil  — 

Burnett  was  shaving  himself  with  a  safety  razor 
and  yet  he  managed  to  cut  himself  slightly  just 
below  the  left  temple.  He  touched  the  scratch  with 
a  bit  of  caustic  and  enjoyed  the  smart  of  it. 

At  half-past  eight  he  went  downstairs  to  break- 
fast, which  he  took  alone  because  his  mother  al- 
ways joined  his  father,  who  left  promptly  at  eight 
for  the  offices  of  the  Burnett  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany. There  was  no  need  of  this  early  departure,  as 
Dicky  regularly  informed  him;  but  the  latter  only 
affected  to  scorn  this  evident  truth.  He  made  a  sort 
of  hobby  of  keeping  to  the  old  habits  that  had  made 


;  JOAN  &  co.  5 

his  business  to-day  what  it  was  —  the  leader  in  the 
manufacture  of  a  certain  type  of  patent-leather 
finish.  His  idea  since  he  was  forty  had  been,  as  he 
informed  his  traveling  men  at  the  end  of  each  fiscal 
year,  "to  make  the  next  twelve  months  the  great- 
est in  the  history  of  the  company." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  his  son  observed  when- 
ever he  found  the  opportunity;  "but  when  are  you 
going  to  get  off?" 

"About  the  time  I  begin  to  smoke  cigarettes," 
Burnett  senior  answered  once,  as  he  lighted  a 
stogie. 

Dicky  waved  responsibility  aside  with  a  motion 
of  the  hand  containing  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"Of  course,  if  you're  going  to  be  stubborn  and 
not  take  advice — " 

"Advice  from  who?"  the  elder  demanded,  ut- 
terly disregarding  the  rule  governing  prepositions. 

"From  me.  Hang  it,  you  are  putting  on  weight." 

"What  of  it?" 

"Mullen  used  to  say — " 

"Who's  Mullen?" 

"Mullen  is  the  Varsity  trainer,"  Dicky  replied 
imperturbably.  "As  I  was  observing,  when  inter- 
rupted, Mullen  said  that  any  man  who  took  on 
weight  after  forty  was  running  a  chance." 

"All  right;  I'll  take  the  chance,"  Burnett  an- 
swered grimly. 

It  was  a  fact,  however,  that  Dicky  really  was 


6  JOAN  &  CO. 

worried  about  his  father.  He  had  a  genuine  love  for 
him  and  an  honest  respect  for  his  opinion  on  every 
other  subject  except  work  and  health.  On  the  latter 
subject  Dicky  actually  was  qualified  to  speak  with 
some  authority;  for  although  he  had  never  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  athletics  he  had  been  under 
Mullen  for  three  years  as  a  member  of  the  second 
baseball  team. 

After  finishing  a  breakfast  of  eggs  and  toast, 
Burnett  enjoyed  his  usual  walk  from  his  home  on 
Sixty-first  Street  to  the  Harvard  Club.  Here  he 
dropped  in  to  glance  at  the  morning  papers,  and 
then  took  a  taxi  for  the  factory,  reaching  there  at 
about  half-past  ten. 

As  second  vice-president  of  the  company,  he  had 
a  desk  in  an  office  with  Forsythe,  the  actual  vice- 
president.  The  latter,  an  aggressive  man  of  forty, 
with  hair  brushed  back  in  a  fashion  that  gave  one 
the  weird  impression  that  he  was  facing  a  strong 
wind,  always  glanced  up  with  an  abrupt  "Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Burnett,"  and  planned  to  find  busi- 
ness elsewhere  the  hour  or  so  that  Dicky  remained. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  not  much  for  the 
latter  to  do.  The  smoothly  running  organization 
had  been  built  up  of  men  who  had  learned  the  busi- 
ness from  factory,  to  road,  to  office.  It  was  so  that 
Burnett  had  wished  his  son  to  learn  it;  but,  as  the 
latter  observed,  with  some  point: 

"What's  the  use,  Dad?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  7 

"The  use?"  snorted  Burnett.  "How  else  will 
you  learn  it?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  learn  it." 

"Eh?" 

"I'd  rather  let  George  do  it." 

"George?" 

"He  being  any  one  who  is  obliged  to  do  it  for 
the  sake  of  earning  a  living,"  explained  Dicky. 
"I  could  do  it,  I  could  go  into  the  factory  and  wal- 
low around  in  sticky  black  stuff,  if  it  were  neces- 
sary. I  could  go  out  on  the  road  and  sell  and  sit  round 
between  times  in  hotel  offices.  But  thank  the  Lord 
it  is  n't  necessary.  So  what's  the  use?  You  did  all 
those  things  yourself,  I  know.  But  that  is  just  the 
reason  why  no  one  else  in  the  family  should  have 
to  do  them  all  over  again.  Besides,  there  are  plenty 
of  men  looking  for  that  chance.  Like  Forsythe;  he 
ate  up  that  kind  of  work  for  years,  and  enjoyed  it. 
Now  he  eats  up  all  this  office,  and  enjoys  it.  And 
you  —  you  ought  to  be  out  playing  golf  —  that 's 
all." 

It  was  a  matter  of  family  pride  that  led  Burnett, 
in  spite  of  this  attitude,  to  elect  the  boy  a  second 
vice-president;  and  it  was  merely  the  obligation  the 
boy  felt  he  owed  his  father  that  made  him  accept 
it.  And  Dicky  let  it  go  at  that.  He  came  down 
nearly  every  morning,  and  sat  around  until  lunch- 
time  mostly  for  the  sake  of  seeing  that  his  father 
did  not  duck  into  an  alley  somewhere  and  bolt  a 


8  JOAN  &  CO. 

cup  of  coffee  and  a  doughnut.  At  twelve  o'clock 
he  broke  in  upon  the  sanctity  of  Burnett's  private 
office,  removed  his  hat  and  coat  from  the  hat-rack, 
and  stood  by  the  roll-top  desk  until  his  father  rose 
with  a  scowl  and  put  his  arms  through  the  sleeves. 
Then  Dicky  led  him  round  the  block  to  a  decent 
hotel,  where  he  made  him  eat  slowly  and  deliber- 
ately a  plate  of  soup,  an  omelet,  and  whole  wheat 
bread  without  butter.  With  equal  insistence  he 
refused  to  allow  him  to  eat  apple  pie,  squash  pie, 
mince  pie,  cream  pie,  or  crullers.  Dicky  generally 
postponed  his  own  lunch  until  later. 

"Then  you'll  go  and  eat  what  you  please,"  his 
father  hinted  darkly  as  he  finished. 

"Yes,  Dad." 

"Why  in  thunder,  then,  can't  you  let  me  alone?" 

"You  are  n't  as  young  as  I  am.  Besides,  if  you're 
going  to  work  as  hard  as  you  do,  you  must  look 
after  yourself." 

Burnett  senior  bit  off  the  end  of  his  stogie  with 
a  vicious  snap  and,  lighting  it,  sat  back.  He  was 
shorter  and  stockier  than  his  son.  His  features  were 
less  finely  moulded.  It  was  as  though  he  had  been 
chiseled  out  of  oak  with  coarse  tools,  while  the  boy 
had  been  carefully  carved  with  keen-bladed  instru- 
ments. That  was  what  the  mother  had  done  for 
him.  She  was  a  Cleaves  of  Portland  —  a  fine,  gentle 
soul  who  in  her  day  had  been  considered  a  beauty. 
She  had  her  days,  even  now. 


JOAN  &  CO.  9 

Burnett  could  not  help  being  proud  of  the  boy. 
When  he  came  into  a  place  like  this,  he  saw  people 
glance  at  him  approvingly.  And  nothing  gave  him 
more  satisfaction  than  to  introduce  him  to  some 
old  friend  or  new  business  acquaintance  with  a 
dignified: 

"My  son." 

But  in  the  end  he  generally  paid  for  this  by  being 
forced  to  listen  to  some  such  remark  as: 

"Ah,  in  business  with  you?" 

As  a  rule,  Dicky  himself  furnished  the  reply: 

"I  have  the  honor  of  being  a  vice-president  of 
the  company." 

And  the  boy  did  not  know  a  vici  dressing  from 
ordinary  shoe  blacking! 

"Look  here,"  his  father  said  to  him  on  this  the 
loth  day  of  January,  "you've  been  out  of  college 
some  six  months  now." 

"Right." 

"  It  seems  as  though  you  ought  to  be  doing  some- 
thing more  than  just  hanging  round." 

"I'm  thinking  of  doing  something,"  Dicky  in- 
formed him. 

Burnett  sat  up  straighter  in  his  chair. 

"Now,  that  sounds  better." 

"I'm  thinking  of  getting  married,"  went  on 
Dicky. 

"Married?"  exclaimed  Burnett. 
'•    "Married,"  Dicky  nodded  seriously. 


io  JOAN  &  CO. 

Burnett  frowned. 

"You  have  n't  got  mixed  up  with  — " 

"Nothing  of  that  sort,"  Dicky  cut  in.  "You 
ought  to  know  me  better." 

Burnett  flushed.  He  did.  He  spoke  more  care- 
fully: 

"Who  is  it,  boy?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  yet,  Dad,  because  I  have  n't 
asked  her.  I  'm  going  to  ask  her  to-day." 

"Any  one  I  know?" 

"Some  one  you'd  like." 

•    Dicky  leaned  across  the  table  and,  with  his  arms 
folded,  talked  straight  into  his  father's  gray  eyes. 

"  She's  very  beautiful,  Dad,  with  a  sort  of  beauty 
that  —  that  makes  you  hold  your  breath.  She's 
slight  and  not  very  tall;  but  sometimes  she  looks 
so  tall  that  I  feel  like  a  kid  beside  her.  And  she  has 
dead-honest  black  eyes  that  think  a  good  deal. 
And  she  makes  you  feel  as  though  you  ought  to  be 
a  prince  or  a  caliph  to  be  worthy  of  her.  That's  the 
trouble." 

Burnett  had  been  studying  his  son.  What  he  saw 
there  now  warmed  his  own  eyes. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  demanded. 

"She's  one  of  the  choice  things  of  the  world,  and 
ought  to  be  surrounded  by  nothing  but  choice 
things." 

Burnett's  face  hardened  a  trifle. 

"You  mean  you  want  to  buy  her  some  jewels  ?  " 


JOAN  &  CO.  ii 

"I  was  n't  thinking  of  that —  though  she  could 
wear  jewels.  I  don't  remember,  though,  that  I  Ve 
ever  seen  her  with  many.  You  would  n't  notice 
them,  anyway,  if  she  had  them  on.  I  don't  know 
what  you  would  get  her  that  she  has  n't  already." 

Burnett  threw  away  his  stogie.  He  had  never 
seen  the  boy  so  much  in  earnest.  It  put  something 
into  the  lad's  eyes  and  mouth  that  he  was  glad  to 
find  there.  He  glanced  around.  There  was  no  one 
near  to  observe  his  weakness,  so  he  reached  over 
and  placed  his  big  hand  on  his  son's. 

"Dick,"  he  said  slowly,  "you  know  that  what's 
mine  is  yours." 

Dicky  Burnett  felt  something  squeezing  his 
Adam's  apple. 

"I  wasn't  telling  you  this  for  —  that,"  he 
choked. 

"I  know,"  Burnett  put  in  quickly.  "I  know. 
But  go  after  her.  Get  her.  If  she's  all  you  say  she 
is,  by  God,  I  '11  make  a  prince  of  you,  if  that 's  what 
she  wants." 

Dicky  smiled  mistily. 

"If  you  were  thirty  years  younger  you'd  get  her 
yourself,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

JOAN  IS  BORED 

JOAN  FAIRBURNE  sat  before  the  long  cheval 
mirror  while  Henriette  did  up  her  rich  black 
hair.  If  Dicky  Burnett  could  have  seen  her  expres- 
sion at  this  moment,  he  would  have  known  —  and 
felt  relieved  to  know  —  that  whatever  was  the 
cause  of  her  boredom,  it  was  not  he,  because  he  was 
not  about.  In  fact,  the  only  person  she  could  see  — 
with  the  exception  of  Henriette,  who  did  not  count 
— was  herself.  The  logical  deduction,  then,  was  that 
she  must  have  been  bored  with  herself.  Yet  if  this 
were  true  it  was  some  development  of  the  last  year. 
Up  to  six  months  before  she  graduated  she  had 
been  gay  enough,  and  then  —  something  had  hap- 
pened. Perhaps  several  things  had  happened. 

First  of  all,  she  had  a  sense  of  being  about  to  be 
graduated,  and  somehow  that  set  her  to  thinking 
—  really  thinking.  Probably,  too,  it  was  the  cul- 
mination of  the  work  she  had  been  doing  and  the 
life  she  had  been  leading;  for  both  in  her  studies 
and  her  associates  she  had  been  extremely  demo- 
cratic. At  the  end  of  the  first  year  she  had  escaped 
from  the  clique  which  naturally  claimed  her  for 
their  own  and  had  mingled  with  all  sorts  of  inter- 
esting girls  —  girls  from  the  West,  and  girls  from 


JOAN  &  CO.  13 

the  country,  and  girls  who  were  working  their  way 
through,  and  girls  who  had  just  barely  enough 
money  to  squeeze  through  and  who  were  looking 
forward  to  earning  their  own  livelihood  afterward. 
It  was  for  her  like  getting  into  a  new  world,  for 
until  then  she  had  lived  as  though  surrounded  by  a 
high  wall.  It  was  a  very  ancient  wall  and  a  very 
beautiful  wall  and  a  protecting  wall,  but  it  was  so 
high  no  one  could  see  over  it.  As  long,  however,  as 
she  knew  nothing  of  what  lay  beyond  —  except 
vaguely  that  the  country  roundabout  was  very 
dangerous  land  for  young  girls  —  she  did  not  mind 
her  seclusion.  Indeed,  she  was  even  grateful  and  fol- 
lowed where  her  elders  led  as  meekly  as  a  young  girl 
should.  It  was  so  her  mother  before  her  had  done, 
although  instead  of  going  to  college  —  for  young 
ladies  did  not  then  go  to  college — she  had  married 
John  Fairburne,  one  of  the  old  New  York  Fairburaes. 
"And  that,  my  dear,"  her  mother  explained,  "has 
been  quite  the  equivalent  of  a  liberal  education." 

But  Joan  was  beginning  to  see  that  this  sort  of 
education  had  kept  her  mother  all  these  years  be- 
hind the  same  old  wall.  The  area  bounded  had,  to 
be  sure,  been  considerably  enlarged  after  her  mar- 
riage and  especially  after  the  birth  of  her  only 
child,  but  the  barrier  remained.  The  Fairburne 
world  was  like  a  little  monarchy,  or  still  more  like 
one  of  those  ancient  walled  cities  one  reads  of  in 
Roman  history. 


i4  JOAN  &  CO. 

During  her  first  year  at  Wellesley,  Joan  believed 
that  the  kingdom  extended  even  as  far  as  there. 
Several  girls  of  her  social  set  entered  with  her  and 
they  quickly  found  other  girls  of  similar  social  sets 
from  Boston  and  Chicago  and  St.  Louis  and  San 
Francisco  who,  except  for  slight  differences  of 
speech,  were  alike  as  peas  in  a  pod. 

That  summer  she  returned  to  New  York  and 
Newport  and  the  old  crowd  she  had  left.  But  in  her 
sophomore  year  Joan  met  Mildred  Devons  —  a 
mouse  of  a  girl  who  had  been  brought  up  on  a 
ranch  in  the  West,  and  who  had  taught  school  for 
three  years  and  served  as  waitress  in  a  summer 
hotel  in  order  to  save  enough  to  come  East  for  this. 
There  had  never  been  any  wall  around  her  life  and 
she  had  seen  many  strange  things. 

It  was  Joan  who  introduced  herself  as  the  two 
sat  studying  on  the  shores  of  the  lake  one  June 
afternoon. 

"Are  n't  we  classmates?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  Miss  Devons  answered,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  guarded  surprise. 

"I  think  it  must  be  because  you  study  so  hard 
that  we've  never  met,"  Joan  continued. 

"I  study  as  hard  as  I  know  how,"  Miss  Devons 
answered  seriously.  "Don't  you?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I  don't  think  I  like  to  study." 

So  the  conversation  began,  and  as  the  days  went 
on,  and  next  year  as  the  months  went  by,  each  girl 


JOAN  &  CO.  15 

revealed  herself  a  little  more  fully  to  the  other. 
And  though  in  all  their  past,  their  present,  and 
their  future  they  differed  so  radically,  a  curious 
sort  of  friendship  developed  that  had  its  effect 
upon  them  both.  Somewhere  below  the  surface  of 
things  they  found  a  common  bond. 

When,  in  her  senior  year,  Miss  Devons  was  taken 
ill  as  a  result  of  overstudy  and  undernourishment, 
it  was  Joan  who  stood  by  to  the  end  —  Joan  and  a 
cousin  of  Mildred  from  Technology  —  one  Mark 
Devons.  He  was  a  slight,  pale-faced  young  man 
with  eager  black  eyes  and  thin  lips  that  came  to- 
gether in  a  straight  line.  Joan  never  met  him  out- 
side of  the  infirmary;  but  there,  on  either  side  of 
the  bed,  they  both  did  their  best  to  encourage  the 
fragile  girl  who  faded  before  their  eyes. 

Joan  was  with  her  alone  when  she  died.  One 
evening  Mildred  reached  out  her  thin  hand  and 
sought  Joan's. 

"I'm  going,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  haven't  let 
them  tell  the  folks  at  home.  Will  you  make  it  — 
easy  as  you  can?  I  guess  they — they'll  sort  of 
miss  me." 

"Oh,  I  shall  too,"  Joan  sobbed.  "Please  — 
please  don't  go!" 

Mildred's  eyes  brightened,  and  for  a  little  while 
she  rallied ;  but  not  for  long. 

When  this  Mark  Devons  came  that  night,  it  was 
Joan  who  met  him  and  told  him.  His  face  grew 


16  JOAN  &  CO. 

dark,  as  though  in  challenge  of  some  mysterious 
enemy. 

"It  is  n't  right!"  he  exclaimed. 

Joan  did  not  understand.  • 

"There  are  plenty  here  who  are  n't  needed,"  he 
broke  out.  "Why— " 

Joan  drew  back  a  little.  For  a  second  she  felt 
guilty.  Impulsively  Devons  thrust  forward  his 
hand. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said  simply. 

So  he  went  out  of  her  life  almost  as  completely 
as  did  Mildred.  Yet  it  was  not  true  that  either  of 
them  had  gone  out  of  her  life. 

It  was  her  first  intimate  experience  with  death, 
and  at  the  beginning  she  had  been  impressed  only 
with  the  abrupt  finality  of  it.  But  when  she  began 
to  write  the  letters  to  those  back  at  home  —  there 
was  a  mother  and  a  sister  —  she  found  herself 
writing,  not  as  of  one  dead,  but  as  of  one  still  living. 
And  all  through  the  rest  of  this  her  last  year  the 
strongest  vital  friendship  she  had,  remained  still 
that  of  Mildred  Devons.  When  finally  she  gradu- 
ated, it  was  as  though  Mildred  graduated  with  her. 

It  was  Mildred,  with  her  fine  ideals  of  the  future, 
her  eagerness  to  make  herself  worth  while,  who 
whispered  to  her  when  on  those  long  June  evenings 
Joan  walked  by  herself  at  twilight  with  a  sense  of 
new  things  stirring  within.  It  was  Mildred  who 
whispered  that  a  graduation  was  not  an  ending  but 


JOAN  &  CO.  17 

a  beginning.  Of  what,  she  did  not  say;  of  what, 
Joan  herself  did  not  know.  But  when  one  came  to 
full  womanhood  surely  it  must  mean  the  beginning 
of  something  more  than  anything  she  then  saw 
ahead  of  her. 

With  this  idea  she  had  come  back  home,  and  for 
a  little  while  had  tried  to  make  her  mother  under- 
stand and  her  father  understand  —  looking  hope- 
fully first  to  one  and  then  to  the  other  for  a  solution. 
The  former  merely  patted  her  upon  the  back  and 
said: 

"You're  a  Fairburne,  my  dear." 
,    The  latter  had  only  smiled. 

"You'll  find  plenty  to  do  soon,"  he  assured  her. 

She  had  passed  that  summer,  as  usual,  in  New- 
port; and  no  one  there  helped  to  explain  her  to  her- 
self. When  she  came  back  in  the  fall,  one  thing  had 
followed  another  so  inevitably  that  she  had  found 
little  time  to  think  at  all.  But  now  she  was  begin- 
ning to  steady  herself  a  little  and  so  to  think  once 
more. 

The  high  wall  was  now  like  a  prison  wall. 
Wherever  she  went,  whatever  she  did,  she  could 
always  reach  out  and  touch  the  four  sides  of  it. 
That  was  true  of  her  home;  it  was  true  of  the  lim- 
ousine which  took  her  from  place  to  place;  it  was 
true  of  each  destination.  Always  the  doors  were 
guarded  and  always  some  one  with  credentials 
stood  ready  to  meet  her.  She  was  shot  from  one  to 


i8  JOAN  &  CO. 

another  like  a  cash  box  in  a  pneumatic  tube.  Some- 
times she  peered  through  the  plate  glass  of  her  car, 
as  she  sat  by  her  mother's  side  or  by  Dicky's  side, 
at  the  crowds  in  the  street  with  an  hysterical  desire 
to  open  the  door,  jump  out,  and  lose  herself  among 
them. 

Yes,  it  was  equally  true  when  she  was  by  Dicky's 
side.  She  had  thought  at  first  she  was  going  to  find 
a  friend  in  Dicky.  She  had  liked  him  as  a  clean 
young  boy  while  he  was  at  college,  and  she  had 
liked  him  last  summer  as  she  had  sailed  the  open 
sea  with  him  now  and  then.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
teas  and  dances  and  bridge  parties  this  fall  she  had 
been  glad  to  have  him  with  her.  But  of  late  he  had 
become  a  little  bit  tiresome.  There  was  no  variety  to 
Dicky.  As  she  saw  him  one  day,  so  he  was  the  next. 
That  was  inevitable,  because  he  himself  had  noth- 
ing from  outside  of  interest  to  bring  to  her.  His 
eyes  saw  only  what  her  eyes  saw.  They  met  the 
same  people  at  the  same  places  and  did  the  same 
things.  It  was  worse  for  him  than  for  her.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  searched  for  something  deeper  in 
him,  but  she  was  quite  sure  now  there  was  nothing 
deeper.  He  was  a  little  more  wholesome  than  the 
others  and  that  was  all.  She  did  not  particularly 
blame  him  for  being  so  negative,  because  to  do 
that  would  have  been  to  blame  herself  equally. 
And  he  was  very  nice.  Too  nice.  He  treated  her  as 
though  she  were  some  fragile  thing  to  be  kept  in 


JOAN  &  CO.  19 

cotton  wool.  It  was  this  which  made  her  smile  even 
at  the  moment  she  was  bored.  If  Dicky  Burnett 
could  have  had  the  privilege  of  reading  her  thoughts 
as  she  thought  sometimes  in  her  white  bed  while 
staring  at  the  ceiling,  he  would  have  been  surprised. 

In  the  dark,  with  all  the  details  of  her  room 
obliterated;  in  the  dark,  with  all  the  costumes  for 
her  silly  part  out  of  sight;  in  the  dark,  with  Henri- 
ette  and  even  her  mother  and  father  in  the  back- 
ground; in  the  dark,  with  the  world  very  quiet  all 
about  her  —  it  was  another  Joan  who  lived  in  the 
big  stone  house.  Her  room  had  always  been  a 
cloistered  place  to  her,  and  at  night  it  seemed  even 
more  cloistered.  With  her  hair  down  and  her  body 
free,  she  felt  like  one  released  —  like  one  allowed 
to  be  for  a  little  while  just  herself.  It  was  then  she 
broke  her  bounds  and  wandered  at  large.  Dicky 
might  have  found  it  significant  that  never  at  these 
times  was  he  in  her  thoughts. 

Henriette  finished  her  hair  and  stepped  back 
with  an  approving  look.  Mademoiselle  was  very 
beautiful,  but  never  as  beautiful  as  she  might  be 
were  she  gayer.  It  is  a  light  heart  that  makes  eyes 
bright  and  brings  color  to  the  cheeks.  Mon  Dieu! 
if  she  herself  had  the  opportunities  Mademoiselle 
Fairburne  enjoyed  — 

There  was  a  gown  to  be  donned  next  —  a  won- 
derful gown  designed  by  an  artist.  Yet  Mademoi- 
selle stood  like  a  doll  and  showed  as  little  interest. 


20  JOAN  &  CO. 

It  was  so,  too,  of  the  hat  —  a  dashing  bit  of  dainti- 
ness. 

At  three  o'clock  Dicky  Burnett  called  for  her, 
looking  very  spruce  in  his  English  cut-away  and 
top  hat.  It  may  have  been  her  fancy,  but  he  ap- 
peared even  a  little  more  solicitous  than  usual 
about  her  comfort.  It  was  a  blustering,  stormy  day, 
with  the  snow  coming  slantwise  in  gusts.  He  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  it  was  too  raw  for  her  to  ven- 
ture out  —  when  venturing  out  meant  only  ven- 
turing from  the  door  of  the  house  to  the  door  of  the 
limousine  and  then  to  the  covered  approach  to 
Delmonico's.  She  recalled  some  of  those  descrip- 
tions Mildred  had  given  her  of  Western  winters. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  "I  wish  we  were  going  to 
walk." 

"Walk!"  exclaimed  Dicky,  with  an  unconscious 
glance  at  her  short  silk  skirt. 

"Don't  worry,"  she  smiled.  "We  won't." 

He  had  tried  to  hold  an  umbrella  above  her  as 
she  came  down  the  steps;  but,  in  a  spirit  of  rebel- 
lion, she  strode  ahead  of  him.  And  all  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  some  demon  of  perverseness  pos- 
sessed her.  For  a  wonder,  she  chose  to  dance,  and 
danced  not  only  with  Dicky,  who  was  a  good 
dancer,  but  with  Hollister,  whom  she  did  not  par- 
ticularly like,  and  with  Diblee,  whom  Dicky  did 
not  particularly  like.  While  the  mood  to  dance  was 
upon  her  she  danced  with  every  one  who  offered 


JOAN  &  CO.  21 

himself  as  a  partner,  and  there  were  few  who  were 
not  glad  of  the  opportunity.  Then,  when  she  had 
had  enough,  she  refused  to  dance  with  any  one,  but 
sat,  with  flushed  cheeks,  like  a  petulant  princess,  not 
deigning  even  to  talk  with  Dicky. 

Once  again  her  mood  changed,  and  she  astonished 
him  with  her  gayety ;  but  on  the  instant  he  tried  to 
join  her  in  it,  she  sat  back  in  silence. 

He  had  never  seen  her  like  this.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  trying  to  follow  two  or  three  Joans.  And 
yet  he  had  a  feeling  that  always  the  steady  dark 
eyes  of  the  real  Joan  dominated  the  others.  Then, 
too,  if  she  stung  him,  she  also  roused  him.  * 

Dicky's  mouth  became  firmer  than  usual  before 
that  afternoon  was  over.  If  he  were  given  half  a 
chance  — 


CHAPTER  III 

CHANCE 

THE  wonder  is  not  that  Chance  should  seem 
to  be  the  exception  to  the  orderly  rule  of  life, 
but  that  except  by  Chance  lives  should  ever  move 
in  an  orderly  way.  If  it  were  possible  to  make,  upon 
a  piece  of  white  paper,  a  diagram  of  the  goings  and 
comings,  the  crossing  and  criss-crossing  of  all  those 
who  move  about  New  York  in  a  single  day,  the 
result  would  prove  it  to  be  little  short  of  marvelous 
that  the  paths  do  not  cut  across  each  other  a 
thousand  times  an  hour. 

In  a  corner  of  the  city  removed  in  space  many 
blocks  from  Delmonico's,  and  separated  in  other 
ways  by  what  might  be  considered  an  impassable 
gulf  from  the  lives  of  either  Joan  Fairburne  or 
Dicky  Burnett,  Mark  Devons  paced  the  floor  of  his 
attic  room,  stopping  now  and  then  to  frown  at  the 
whirling  snowflakes,  and  then  at  the  letter  which 
he  had  received  in  the  noon  mail.  The  letter  was 
typewritten  and  read  as  follows : 

Offices  of  Carlow,  Reed  fcf  Co. 

New  York,  N.Y.  Wall  Street 
DEAR  MR.  DEVONS  : 

We  have  delayed  giving  you  a  final  answer  on 
the  proposition  you  submitted  to  us  to  finance 


JOAN  &  CO.  23 

your  patent  No.  4782937  covering  a  new  process 
for  the  manufacture  of  an  improved  patent-leather 
dressing  at  a  reduced  cost  over  the  present  type 
upon  the  market,  because,  to  speak  frankly,  the 
report  of  our  chemists  was  so  enthusiastic  that  we 
felt  you  had  something  that  really  deserved  success. 
We  went  over  the  matter  several  times,  but  have, 
however  reluctantly,  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
other  considerations  enter  to  such  an  extent  into 
the  problem  of  establishing  such  an  enterprise  that, 
with  our  many  other  interests,  we  do  not  feel  jus- 
tified at  present  in  continuing  negotiations.  The 
Burnett  product  is  so  firmly  intrenched  with  the 
trade,  and  is  backed  by  such  a  perfect  organiza- 
tion, that  any  attempt  to  break  through,  even  with 
a  superior  article,  would  involve  more  capital  and 
time  than  we  are  just  now  prepared  to  risk.  There 
is  a  possibility  that  at  some  later  date,  if  you  care 
to  re-submit  the  proposition,  we  might  be  willing 
to  undertake  it. 

Thanking  you  for  your  favor  and  wishing  you  all 
success,  we  beg  to  remain, 

Sincerely  yours, 

CARLOW,  REED  &  Co. 

MR.  MARK  DEVONS, 

Mullen  Court,  New  York,  N.Y. 

In  another  envelope  from  the  same  office  came  a 
note  from  Ben  Sawyer: 


24  JOAN  &  CO. 

DEAR  MARK  : 

I've  just  had  a  talk  with  Mr.  Reed,  and  he 
tells  me  he  has  turned  you  down.  It's  a  darned 
shame,  because  you  have  a  good  thing  there.  The 
trouble  seems  to  be  that  several  years  ago  he  had 
one  set-to  with  the  Burnett  crowd  and  got  the 
worst  of  it.  They  say  Burnett  is  a  bear  and  would 
fight  to  his  last  cent,  and  from  all  I  hear  there 're 
a  good  many  cents  in  between.  I  wish  I  had  the 
money  myself  to  back  you ! 

Why  the  deuce  don't  you  drop  round  and  see  a 
fellow?  I'm  at  Wellington  Chambers  still. 

Yours, 

.    BEN. 

Confidential;  Reed  says  that  offer  Forsythe  of 
Burnett's  made  of  two  thousand  cash  is  robbery. 
Keep  away. 

B. 

It  was  difficult,  on  the  whole,  to  find  very  much 
humor  in  either  letter;  and  yet  there  was  one  line 
that  brought  a  smile  to  Devons's  lips  every  time  he 
read  it.  "There  is  a  possibility  that  at  some  later 
date  —  " 

At  some  later  date!  To  appreciate  the  humor  of 
that  jaunty  phrase  one  had  to  realize  that  he  had 
already  been  waiting  several  months  on  a  capital 
of  seventy-five  dollars.  This  had  been  reduced  on 


JOAN  &  CO.  25 

Monday  to  ten  cents.  To-day  was  Wednesday  and 
he  was  hungry  —  hungry  as  the  devil.  Under  the 
circumstances  the  airiness  of  that  suggestion  of 
waiting  six  months  or  a  year  longer  might,  if  one 
were  temperamentally  so  inclined,  be  considered  in 
the  nature  of  a  jest. 

For  two  months  he  had  subsisted  chiefly  on  a 
diet  of  bread,  black  coffee,  and  tobacco.  That  was 
well  enough  as  long  as  he  had  his  dreams  also. 
As  long  as  he  was  able  to  go  to  bed  at  night  with 
visions  of  a  fortune  awaiting  him  on  the  morrow, 
bread,  black  coffee,  and  a  smoke  were  plenty  for 
dinner.  He  had  enough  books  with  him  so  that  he 
was  enabled  to  pass  not  only  a  pleasant  but  profit- 
able evening  with  his  studies.  If  the  after-break- 
fast mail  did  not  bring  him  his  letter,  there  was 
another  at  eleven  to  look  forward  to,  and  more 
studying  with  a  little  dreaming  thrown  in.  So 
until  lunch-time  and  the  three  o'clock  mail.  So 
until  dinner-time,  and  so  through  another  evening. 

Dreams !  Dreams !  Dreams !  A  man  does  not  put 
on  weight  with  them.  A  man  may  even  lose  color 
through  them.  And  of  course  plug  tobacco  in  a 
corn-cob  is  not  altogether  wholesome,  although  it 
helps  the  dreaming.  But  it  is  surprising  how  happy 
a  man  may  keep  as  long  as  his  plug  tobacco  lasts. 

Devons  had  stumbled  upon  his  discovery  while 
doing  research  work  on  leathers  in  preparation  for 
the  original  paper  which  he  offered  for  his  degree. 


26  JOAN  &  CO. 

He  had  hugged  his  secret  close  and  worked  on  it 
all  summer  in  the  Technology  laboratories.  When 
he  came  to  New  York  he  went  direct  to  Forsythe 
with  it  as  soon  as  he  had  secured  his  patent  papers; 
and  Forsythe,  after  looking  him  up,  had  made  his 
offer  to  buy  it  outright. 

When  Devons  indignantly  refused,  Forsythe 
only  smiled. 

"You '11  be  back,"  he  said. 

"Why?"  Devons  demanded. 

"Because,  my  boy,"  Forsythe  assured  him, 
"there  is  nowhere  else  to  go." 

It  had  looked  that  way  until,  quite  by  chance, 
Devons  ran  across  his  classmate  Sawyer,  who  was 
connected  with  a  house  making  a  specialty  of  financ- 
ing new  enterprises.  That  was  when  the  dreaming 
began. 

It  had  been  glorious  while  it  lasted,  because 
dreams  are  largely  a  matter  of  contrast,  and  Devons 
had,  in  the  way  of  a  somber  background  to  put  them 
against,  all  that  was  necessary.  One  of  ten  chil- 
dren, who  had  kept  his  mother  lean  and  his  father 
scrawny  from  the  sheer  effort  of  getting  together 
enough  to  clothe  and  feed  them  up  to  the  age  when 
they  were  able  to  earn  a  pittance  for  themselves,  he 
had  fought  his  way,  as  Mildred  his  cousin  had  hers, 
through  school.  And  what  he  remembered  of  it  was 
not  the  hardship  itself,  but  what  it  took  away  from 
him.  To  do  nothing  but  exist  and  study  he  had 


JOAN  &  CO.  27 

surrendered  most  of  those  things  that  are  the  herit- 
age of  youth.  It  was  work,  nothing  but  work,  with 
laughter  and  bright  eyes  all  about  him,  but  beyond 
him  —  like  mocking  fairy  voices  in  the  distance. 
It  was  work  in  winter  and  work  in  summer  for  the 
dollars  that  came  to  him  so  grudgingly  and  came 
to  others  so  easily.  He  made  Technology  at  eight- 
een as  time  is  computed  by  mathematics,  but  he 
was  nearer  twenty-five  in  body. 

It  had  been  pleasanter  there,  because  he  felt 
himself  to  be  just  so  much  nearer  his  goal;  but 
though  the  authorities  advised  against  work  outside 
of  studies,  he  was  at  work  half  the  time  he  should 
have  been  sleeping.  And  he  did  not  have  as  much 
to  eat  as  he  should  have  had.  Life  for  those  four 
years  had  been  a  treadmill  affair  for  him,  and  twice 
he  had  been  upon  the  point  of  dropping,  but  had 
held  himself  together  by  his  nerve. 

So  when  he  made  his  discovery  it  was  a  good  deal 
as  though  he  had  been  handed  Aladdin's  lamp.  For 
a  week  he  wandered  around  in  a  sort  of  dazed 
ecstasy.  Then  he  buckled  down  again  and  pushed  it 
through. 

He  had  borrowed  enough  from  home  to  secure 
his  patent  papers  and  lived  upon  what  he  had  left. 
The  folks  had  mortgaged  the  farm  to  raise  it  for 
him.  And  one  of  the  very  finest  of  his  dreams  ran 
something  like  this: 

Mr.  Reed,  of  Carlow,  Reed  &  Co.,  came  to  him 


28  JOAN  &  CO. 

at  the  end  of  the  first  fiscal  year  of  the  Devons 
Manufacturing  Company  and  said:  "Devons,  this 
thing  is  going  better  than  we  expected.  You've 
worked  hard,  and  now  you'd  better  take  a  vaca- 
tion. Here's  ten  thousand  dollars  on  account.  Take 
it,  and  go  off  for  a  month." 

Ten  thousand  dollars!  It  is  necessary  to  know 
how  big  a  single  dollar  is  before  any  one  can  realize 
how  big  ten  thousand  dollars  is.  A  single  dollar  can 
be,  in  size,  as  big  as  the  moon,  and  that's  as  big  as 
you  care  to  make  it;  as  big  as  a  pie  plate,  a  carriage 
wheel,  a  circus  ring,  or  the  circumference  of  the 
globe.  A  single  dollar  can  be  in  value  as  much  as 
an  ordinary  fortune,  or  as  much  as  a  Rockefeller 
fortune,  or  anything  in  between.  If  you  're  starving 
it  may  be  just  as  valuable  as  all  the  money  in  the 
world. 

To  Devons  a  dollar  meant  the  difference  be- 
tween being  hungry  and  being  well  fed.  It  meant 
the  difference  between  walking  with  weak  legs  or 
riding  in  a  comfortable  subway  train.  It  meant  the 
difference,  almost,  between  something  and  nothing 
—  which  is  a  big  difference.  Ten  thousand  dollars, 
then,  meant  ten  thousand  times  that. 

He  had  ten  thousand  dollars  —  not  in  a  check, 
but,  say,  in  dollar  bills  —  something  he  could  see, 
and  touch  and  count  in  separate  units.  He  had 
them  in  two  dress-suit  cases.  The  cases  were  packed 
tight  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  strap  them.  Green 


JOAN  &  CO.  29 

bits  of  them  stuck  out.  Even  then  he  had  enough 
left  over  to  buy  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and  hat  and 
overcoat  and  shoes  and  silk  stockings  and  shirts 
and  cravats,  and  a  pair  of  gold  studs  he  saw  in  a 
window  once.  After  this  he  had  enough  to  buy  a 
new  pipe  and  eat  a  square  meal  at  Delmonico's 
and  take  a  taxi  for  his  parlor-car  reservation. 

In  the  next  picture  he  was  stepping  off  at  a  little 
one-horse  railroad  station  in  the  West  and  shaking 
hands  with  his  father  who  had  driven  up  with  the 
big  horses  in  a  buckboard. 

"Strap  those  suit-cases  on  tight,"  he  said  to  his 
father;  "I  don't  want  to  lose  them." 

So  they  jogged  along  for  some  ten  miles,  and  he 
inquired  after  every  one  and  learned  that  they  were 
all  sick  or  dying  or  on  their  way  to  the  poorhouse. 
At  the  farmhouse  door  his  mother  came  out  to 
meet  him,  looking,  as  always,  thin  and  hollow-eyed. 
He  took  the  suit-cases  into  the  sitting-room  and 
handed  one  to  his  mother  and  one  to  his  father, 
remarking  casually: 

"A  little  present." 

Good  Lord !  —  ten  thousand  dollars !  If  it  meant 
what  it  did  to  him,  what  did  it  mean  to  them? 
A  real  ranch  with  hired  men  to  work  it  and  ease  and 
comfort,  and  a  Ford  and  — 

Now  it  was  all  over.  The  dream  had  vanished. 
"If,  at  some  later  date — " 

Devons  scraped   round   in  the  bottom  of  his 


3o  JOAN  &  CO. 

pocket  and  found  enough  tobacco  for  one  more 
pipeful.  He  filled  his  corn-cob  and  lighted  it,  but 
the  smoke  tasted  bitter.  That  was  because  he  was 
hungry. 

And  yet,  there  was  one  chance  remaining  which, 
if  accepted,  would  at  least  pay  off  the  debt  at  home 
and  leave  enough  to  stake  him  to  some  sort  of  job 
at  which  he  could  earn  a  living.  He  had  only  to  go 
back  to  Forsythe  and  sign  his  name  to  a  paper  and 
he  would  receive  two  thousand  dollars.  That  was 
only  a  fifth  of  ten  and  —  it  was  the  end.  It  would, 
however,  pull  him  out  of  his  present  hole  and 
leave  him  free  for  a  new  beginning. 

Once  again  Devons  paced  his  room.  If  only  he 
alone  were  involved  he  would  hold  on,  but  he  was 
not  alone  now.  He  knew  what  that  mortgage  signi- 
fied to  his  father.  For  twenty  years  the  man  had 
denied  himself  everything  except  the  bed-rock 
necessities  of  life  to  escape  this  curse  of  the  little 
farmer.  Devons  knew  that  to  his  father  it  was  like 
submitting  to  having  a  sword  suspended  above  his 
head.  If  it  fell  —  if  the  interest  money  was  not  met 
promptly  —  it  meant  disaster.  It  meant,  with  the 
foreclosed  mortgage,  not  a  single  clean  blow  which 
a  man  might  endure,  but  a  long-drawn-out  type 
of  torture.  The  only  alternative  open  to  his  father 
would  be  to  give  up  his  rights  as  a  freeman  and 
hire  out. 

When  Devons  reached  this  point  he  stopped 


JOAN  &  CO.  31 

short  and  clenched  his  fists.  He  could  not  allow 
such  a  thing  as  that  to  be.  No  matter  what  the 
sacrifice,  he  must  forestall  that  contingency.  It 
was  getting  to  be  late  in  the  afternoon,  but  if  he 
hurried  he  might  possibly  reach  Forsythe. 

Devons  put  on  his  coat,  jammed  his  old  soft  hat 
down  to  his  ears,  and  started  downstairs.  On  the 
second  landing  he  caught  the  smell  of  coffee  from 
the  room  of  Arkwright,  the  architect,  and  paused  a 
moment  to  enjoy  it.  The  latter  swung  open  the 
door  and  saw  him. 

"Hello,  Devons,"  he  called.  "Thought  I  heard 
some  one  there.  Come  in  a  minute,  can't  you?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

"Oh,  come  on  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee  before 
you  go  out,  anyhow,"  he  pleaded.  "It's  a  tough 
old  day." 

He  was  a  big,  insistent  fellow,  this  Arkwright, 
and  he  stepped  to  Devons's  side  and  took  his  arm. 

"Want  to  show  you  something." 

Devons  followed  into  the  warm  room,  where  over 
an  alcohol  lamp  a  coffee-pot  was  sending  out  clouds 
of  fragrant  steam.  A  dark  wooden  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room  was  covered  with  drawings. 
Arkwright  poured  a  cup  of  black  Java  and  shoved 
it  toward  Devons,  with  a  box  of  cigarettes.  The 
latter  hesitated.  It  seemed  almost  like  accepting 
charity  to  take  it  when  he  wanted  it  so  much. 
His  hand  trembled  as  he  reached  for  the  cup. 


32  JOAN  &  CO. 

Arkwright  studied  him  a  second  —  his  brows 
contracting  over  sharp  gray  eyes, 
i  "  Look  here,  Devons,  you  're  sick ! "  he  exclaimed. 
*"  But  by  then  Devons  had  swallowed  his  coffee,  and 
it  warmed  him  all  the  way  through  —  warmed  and 
stimulated  him. 

"No,"  he  answered  steadily,  as  he  lighted  a 
cigarette.  "It's  only  a  case  of  nerves.  What  have 
you  there?"  He  nodded  toward  the  drawings. 

Arkwright's  attention  was  immediately  diverted. 

"Come  over  and  see,"  he  invited.  "Here's  some- 
thing good.  When  you  make  your  pile  you  may 
want  it.  It's  a  gentleman's  country  place  —  to  cost, 
say,  around  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand;  and  it's 
one  peach." 

Passing  his  pencil  lightly  over  the  angles  and 
circles  and  semicircles  that  stood  for  masonry,  — 
it  required  only  dollars  to  convert  them  into 
masonry,  —  Arkwright  elaborated  on  his  plans. 
He  showed  the  house  modeled  after  the  fashion 
of  an  English  gentleman's  estate,  with  its  big 
vaulted  reception-room  and  dining-room,  and  the 
master's  rooms  and  the  servants'  rooms  and  the 
modern  kitchen,  and  the  grounds  outside  with 
pond  and  tennis-court  and  rose-garden,  and  garage, 
and  Lord  knows  what.  He  made  it  all  so  vivid  that 
Devons  visualized  it  as  though  he  were  actually 
looking  at  the  finished  mansion.  As  Arkwright 
rambled  on  he  used  the  possessive.  It  was  always, 


JOAN  &  CO.  33 

"Here 's  your  dining-room  and  here 's  your  library," 
until  Devons  was  back  again  in  his  old  day-dream- 
ing. 

"It's  a  corker,"  nodded  Devons  as  Arkwright 
finished.  "If  I  had  a  fortune  I'd  order  it  this  after- 
noon." 

Arkwright  laughed. 

"That's  the  trouble,"  he  answered.  "The  fellows 
that  ought  to  have  such  places  can't  get  'em,  and 
those  that  can  get  'em  don't  want  'em." 

"  Some  of  us  will  get  'em  yet,"  Devons  declared 
grimly. 

He  put  on  his  coat;  but  when  he  went  out 
again  it  was  in  a  different  mood.  Forsythe  could  go 
hang.  Sawyer  had  spoken  once  of  the  possibility  of 
finding  him  a  job  —  a  small  salaried  job  —  with 
Carlow,  Reed  &  Co.  He  would  walk  up  there  and 
see  him  and  take  anything  that  was  offered. 

The  wind  blew  the  snow  into  his  face  and 
whipped  his  coat  about  his  ankles  as  he  stepped 
out.  It  came  like  a  challenge,  and  he  accepted  it. 
He  made  his  way  across  Washington  Square  to 
the  Avenue  and  pushed  ahead  uptown.  For  the 
first  half-dozen  blocks  it  was  easy,  but  as  he  went 
on  it  became  harder  and  harder  to  walk.  He  was 
weaker,  on  the  whole,  than  he  realized.  But  he 
gripped  his  jaws  and  went  on  and  on  and  on.  With 
his  head  low  and  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  he  cen- 
tered every  effort  on  just  making  his  feet  go.  He 


34  JOAN  &  CO. 

saw  nothing  and  felt  nothing.  He  was  moving  now 
like  an  automaton.  So  he  went  on  and  on  and  on  — • 
farther,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  than  he  should  have 
gone. 

He  paused  once  to  stare  through  the  snow  at 
the  number  of  a  cross-street.  He  was  in  the  sixties 
and  west  of  his  destination.  He  turned  back  dully. 
Then  he  staggered  off  the  sidewalk  and  across  the 
Avenue.  Like  one  in  a  dream,  he  heard  the  distant 
toot  of  a  horn  —  then  a  shout.  He  felt  something 
strike  him,  and  that  was  all  he  felt  or  knew. 


T 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  DRIVER  AND  FATE 

I  HE  afternoon  at  Delmonico's  was  speeding, 
and  with  every  passing  minute  Dicky  was 
becoming  more  impatient  and  Joan  more  willful. 
She  seemed  to  be  taking  almost  the  delight  of  a 
coquette  in  teasing  him.  Dicky  never  remembered 
having  seen  her  more  beautiful.  It  was  worth  the 
price  of  being  annoyed  occasionally  to  watch  the 
sparkle  in  her  eyes,  little  gleams  of  mischievous 
laughter  like  stars  struck  from  steel;  to  enjoy  the 
heightened  color  of  her  cheeks  and  the  quick  play 
of  her  mobile  lips.  But  back  of  it  all  Dicky  felt  as 
though  there  was  something  serious.  Perhaps  be- 
cause back  of  his  own  lightness  there  was  some- 
thing very  serious  indeed.  Before  this  day  was  out 
he  meant  to  be  more  serious  than  he  had  ever  been 
in  his  life.  Had  he  the  opportunity  he  would  have 
begun  right  here  among  the  gay  couples  who  to 
the  music  of  the  hidden  orchestra  hopped  in  fox- 
trots over  the  polished  floor.  But  every  time  he 
leaned  forward  with  the  words  on  his  lips,  either 
he  was  interrupted  or  he  found  her  attention  di- 
verted to  something  else.  He  could  have  strangled 
Diblee,  who  strolled  over  and  insisted  on  sitting 
out  the  dance  which  she  had  refused  him.  The  man 


36  JOAN  &  CO. 

talked  like  an  ass,  but  Dicky  derived  some  satis- 
faction from  the  knowledge  that  the  fellow  was 
heartily  boring  her. 

At  half-past  four  she  rose  abruptly. 

"I  think  I '11  go  home  now,"  she  informed  Dicky. 

"Good!  "he  exclaimed. 

She  glanced  up  at  him,  somewhat  surprised  at 
his  earnestness. 

"Why,  Dicky,"  she  returned,  "it  can't  be  you're 
getting  tired  of  dancing." 

"It  isn't  that,"  he  interrupted.  "But  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you.  I  want  to  see  you  alone." 

They  had  been  skirting  the  dance  floor  on  their 
way  to  the  cloak-room,  nodding  to  this  one  and 
that;  but  she  paused  a  moment  at  this  before  going 
on.  She  looked  at  Dicky's  flushed  cheeks  and  alert 
eyes  and  firm  mouth.  Then  she  sat  down  again. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  it  is  best  you  should,"  she 
said.  "  I  'm  tired.  I  was  going  to  ask  you  please  not 
to  come  with  me." 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"Because,"  she  answered  slowly,  —  "because  I 
have  a  feeling  I  want  to  be  by  myself." 

"Why?"  he  persisted. 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it's  only  a  fancy." 

"You're  going  right  home?" 

"Yes." 
s"Then--"        A- 

The  orchestra  had  swung  into  a  valse  hesitation 


JOAN  &  CO.  37 

—  a  slow,  dreamy  sort  of  thing,  a  shadowy  air  on 
the  border-land  of  reality. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  "something  is  going  to 
happen  to  me  to-day  —  somehow,  somewhere." 

"Eh?  You  have  n't  been  talking  with  a  fortune- 
teller!" 

She  shook  her  head,  remaining  serious  through 
her  light  smile. 

"They  sound  foolish  when  you  put  such  thoughts 
into  words,"  she  admitted,  "and  I'm  not  much 
given  to  things  of  that  sort.  But  all  this  afternoon 
I  've  had  a  feeling  that  I  was  starting  on  some  big 
adventure.  It 's  as  though  I  were  going  to  sea  on  a 
long  voyage." 

"That's  queer!"  exclaimed  Dicky. 

She  met  his  eyes.  It  was  as  though  he  understood ; 
and  she  had  not  expected  him  to  understand. 

"That,"  he  said  a  little  breathlessly,  —  " that 
is  what  I  was  going  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"You?" 

"That  is  why  I  wished  to  see  you  alone." 

"You?"  she  repeated  again. 

"You'll  give  me  a  chance,  Joan?" 

She  appeared  startled. 

For  a  second  she  searched  her  soul.  Then  she 
answered  slowly. 

"  I  'm  quite  sure  it  was  n't  with  you  —  that 
adventure." 

It  was  Dicky's  opportunity;  and,   if  it  were 


38  JOAN  &  CO. 

necessary  to  take  it  right  here  in  the  crowd,  he 
would  take  it.  If  every  eye  were  turned  upon  him 
and  every  ear  listening,  he  would  take  it. 

"It's  because  you  don't  understand,"  he  rushed 
on.  "You  see,  you  —  you  felt  what  I  did  n't  have 
the  nerve  to  speak.  I  love  you.  Joan,  I  love  you." 

With  a  little  cry,  she  reached  for  his  hand  be- 
neath the  table  before  which  they  were  sitting. 

"Hush!"  she  pleaded. 

But  he  would  not  hush. 

"I've  got  to  tell  you  now  —  here,"  he  persisted. 
"I've  waited  as  long  as  I  can.  I  know  I'm  not  big 
enough  for  you.  I  know  you're  too  fine  for  me. 
But  that  would  hold  true  of  any  man.  And  I'm 
ready  to  give  my  whole  life  to  making  you  happy. 
Joan,  dear,  I  don't  know  just  what  I  can  do  for 
you.  You're  —  you're  like  a  princess.  Now  I 
want  to  make  you  a  queen  if  I  can.  I  —  " 

"Dicky,"  she  whispered  again,  "you  mustn't 
talk  like  that!" 

"Maybe  —  that's  the  big  adventure  you  were 
thinking  about,"  he  breathed. 

For  a  heart-beat  she  was  tempted  to  laugh  —  to 
laugh  out  loud.  It  was  a  demoniacal  impulse  un- 
worthy of  her,  because  she  knew  Dicky  was  in 
earnest.  She  knew  he  was  speaking  from  the  depths 
of  him  —  such  as  those  depths  were.  So  she  choked 
back  that  devil  and  tried  to  think  calmly  of  what 


JOAN  &  CO.  39 

she  could  answer  without  hurting.  But  how  little 
he  knew  her  and  what  she  craved !  He  would  make 
her  a  queen,  he  said.  He  would  give  his  life  to 
making  her  happy  with  petting  and  baubles,  and 
be  her  slave.  Yes,  he  would  do  that.  He  would  do 
it  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  He  would  do  it  better 
than  any  one  she  knew.  And  he  would  call  that 
the  great  adventure! 

It  was  something  from  the  swirling  snow  which 
struck  her  face  when  she  left  the  house  that  had 
stimulated  her  imagination  this  afternoon.  The 
sting  had  brought  back  those  vivid  pictures  of 
bleak,  stern  hardships  that  Mildred  had  painted 
for  her.  Out  of  sheer  contrast  they  had  stirred  in 
her  a  craving  for  something  like  that  —  a  primi- 
tive craving  such  as  seizes  men  in  the  spring  and 
drives  them  back  to  forest  and  stream-side.  She 
wanted  to  get  out  and  away  where  life  would  bite. 
She  wanted,  not  more  of  those  things  she  had 
now,  but  opportunity  to  do  without  some  of  those 
things.  She  wanted  a  chance  to  be  stripped  to  her- 
self —  a  chance  to  use  herself. 

"Joan,"  he  choked,  "Joan  —  you  believe  me?" 

"I  do,"  she  said  quickly.  "That's  the  trouble." 

"Trouble?" 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  had  not  spoken!" 

"  You  mean  you  —  this  is  not  —  the  adventure  ? " 

How  could  it  be?  It  was  no  more  an  adventure 
than  getting  into  a  waiting  limousine  with  him. 


4o  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  "I  told  you  I  wanted  to  be 
by  myself.  I  want  it  more  than  ever  now." 

"Because  of  me?" 

"Because  of  everything." 

"You  don't  love  me,  then?" 

"You  want  me  to  tell  you  the  truth,  don't  you, 
Dicky?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,"  she  said  slowly  and  as  gently  as  she 
could,  —  "then  the  truth  is:  I  don't  love  you." 

Dicky  took  it  like  a  man.  He  neither  refused  to 
meet  her  eyes  nor  made  a  long  face  about  it. 

"That,"  he  said,  "seems  to  settle  it.  Are  you 
ready?" 

He  escorted  her  to  the  cloak-room,  and  went 
back  and  called  her  machine  and  found  his  own 
coat.  Then  he  waited  and  helped  her  in.  Un- 
covered, he  stood  in  the  snow  before  the  open 
door. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  giving  her  hand,  "I  'm  sorry." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  feel  like  that,"  he  said. 
"I'd  rather  you  felt  you  had  some  one  —  always 
ready  —  to  call  on." 

"Oh,  I  do!" 

"For  anything  you  may  want  within  my  power 
to  give  you!" 

"Yes." 

As  he  stood,  straight  and  slim  with  a  brave  face, 
she  thought  of  him  as  some  story-book  prince.  For 


JOAN  &  CO.  41 

a  second  it  was  as  though  this  were  some  unreal 
world  —  a  world  of  romance  where  princes  of  that 
sort  could  be. 

Then  he  closed  the  door  upon  her  and  the 
machine  started  through  the  blinding  snow. 

Charles,  the  driver,  took  his  usual  course.  If 
any  one  had  told  him  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of 
Fate,  he  would  probably  have  inquired,  "Who  is 
Fate,  sir?" 

He  was  a  careful  driver,  who  minded  his  own 
business  and  the  traffic  regulations.  This  late 
afternoon  he  was  more  than  usually  careful,  be- 
cause it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  saw  three  feet 
ahead.  -And  yet  —  when  a  half-dazed  figure 
stumbled  from  the  sidewalk  into  the  road,  he 
could  not  stop  his  machine  in  time  to  avoid  hitting 
it.  He  threw  on  the  emergency  brake,  but  it  was 
too  late. 

Jumping  from  his  seat,  he  picked  up  the  un- 
conscious man  and  looked  about  for  help.  But  the 
snow  came  down  all  around  him  like  a  screen. 

Joan  threw  open  the  door.  She  saw  the  limp 
figure. 

"Bring  him  here!"  she  commanded. 

Charles  stumbled  forward  with  his  burden. 

"Put  him  on  the  seat,"  she  commanded. 
-"Quick!  Drive  home!" 

As  the  car  started  on,  she  bent  over  the  stranger. 
Then,  with  an  amazed  cry,  she  uttered  his  name. 


w 


CHAPTER  V 

BANDAGED 

HEN  Devons  regained  consciousness  there 
were  a  great  many  things  he  could  not 
understand  —  a  great  many  things,  in  fact,  that, 
had  he  the  strength,  he  would  have  been  ready  to 
argue  could  not  possibly  be  so.  Apparently  he  was 
in  a  big  room  similar  to  the  one  Arkwright  had 
visualized  for  him  in  that  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollar  house  he  was  to  buy  some  day. 
Apparently  he  was  in  a  broad,  soft-mattressed 
bed  and  covered  with  dainty  white  linen,  such  as 
one  might  expect  to  find  in  such  a  home.  Appar- 
ently all  the  other  furnishings  were  in  keeping  — 
though  he  did  not  see  them  in  detail,  but  rather 
sensed  them  as  a  whole.  Apparently  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  near  a  shaded  light  there  was  a 
nurse  in  uniform,  and  near  her  a  slight,  bearded 
man,  very  professional-looking.  Neither  of  them 
was  aware  that  he  was  studying  them.  Apparently 
they  were  waiting  for  something. 

Now,  manifestly,  this  was  all  a  grotesque  dream 
on  Devons's  part.  He  closed  his  eyes  again  and 
tried  to  get  back  to  something  real.  The  first 
tangible  fact  in  the  past  that  he  was  able  to  get 
hold  of  was  of  being  in  Arkwright's-room  and 


JOAN  &  CO  43 

drinking  there  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then  Arkwright 
had  shown  him  those  plans. 

After  that  he  had  gone  out  somewhere.  He  had 
started  for  Wellington  Chambers.  Perhaps  this 
was  Wellington  Chambers.  He  opened  his  eyes 
again.  No;  Sawyer  was  not  here.  Besides,  what 
were  these  other  two?  When  he  tried  to  move, 
their  presence  seemed  more  plausible.  He  was  sore 
all  over,  as  though  he  had  been  pummeled.  This 
helped  him  to  recall  that  mysterious  tooting  of 
horns  and  the  curious  phenomenon  immediately 
following  of  an  extra  heavy  gust  of  wind  hitting 
him  as  with  a  cudgel.  And  that  was  as  far  as  he 
could  go. 

Hearing  a  sound  from  the  rear  of  the  room,  he 
opened  his  eyes  once  more.  The  bearded  man  was 
coming  toward  him.  He  took  Devons's  pulse  and 
examined  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  and  asked  him 
how  he  felt. 

"Sore,"  replied  Devons.  "Where  am  I?"   ' 

"In  the  home  of  Mr.  Fairburne,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"How  did  I  get  here?" 

"Never  mind  that.  Save  your  strength  to  answer 
my  questions." 

So,  with  the  nurse  to  assist  him,  the  doctor  felt 
Devons  all  over.  In  some  places  it  hurt  and  in 
other  places  it  did  not.  The  doctor's  conclusion  at 
the  end  of  the  examination  was  that  he  had  a 


44  JOAN  &  CO 

dislocated  shoulder,  a  fractured  rib,  and  various 
odds  and  ends  of  bruises. 

"How  did  I  get  them?"  inquired  Devons. 

"You  ran  into  an  automobile,"  was  the  politic 
way  Dr.  Nichols  put  it. 

"How  did  the  —  the  auto  come  out?"  inquired 
Devons,  with  a  flickering  smile. 

"As  usual,  the  machine  got  the  better  of  it," 
replied  Nichols. 

Still,  the  machine  could  not  be  blamed  for  the 
shockingly  ill-nourished  body  that  had  withstood 
the  blow  so  feebly.  Because  the  young  man  seemed 
of  the  more  intelligent  sort,  he  pursued  his  ques- 
tioning a  little  further,  prompted  by  some  curiosity. 

"What's  been  your  diet  lately?"  he  inquired. 

"Bread  and  coffee  mostly,"  answered  Devons. 

"Didn't  you  know  any  better?"  grunted 
Nichols. 

"Yes." 

"Then  —  " 

He  caught  an  amused  expression  in  Devons's 
sunken  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  went  on  more  gently.  "Well, 
we'll  have  to  get  some  real  food  into  you  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"Is  this  a  hospital?"  asked  Devons. 

"Hardly.  Miss  Joan  Fairburae  was  in  the  ma- 
chine when  you  stumbled  in  front  of  it.  She  brought 
you  here." 


JOAN  &  CO.  45 

"  Joan  Fairburne,"  muttered  Devons,  trying  to 
place  the  name. 

"  She  says  she  knew  you  when  she  was  in  college." 

He  remembered  then.  She  was  with  Mildred 
when  she  died.  She  had  dark  hair  and  eyes.  She 
was  very  beautiful  —  very  beautiful  and  very  rich. 

Nichols  had  removed  his  coat  in  businesslike 
fashion  and  was  rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

"I've  got  to  get  that  shoulder  back,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Then  I'll  fix  that  rib  in  place.  Better 
save  your  strength.  I  '11  have  to  give  you  a  whiff  of 
ether." 

The  subsequent  half-hour  was  an  exceedingly 
unpleasant  one  for  Devons.  He  was  so  weak  that 
Nichols  refrained  from  administering  any  more 
ether  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  he  was 
both  judge  and  jury  on  the  question.  Devons 
clenched  his  jaw  and  stood  it,  but  he  could  not 
help  his  lips  from  getting  white.  Whenever  that 
happened,  Nichols  nodded  to  the  nurse,  and  she 
shoved  a  gauze  sponge  sprinkled  with  the  pungent 
stuff  beneath  his  nose.  This  set  his  head  to  swim- 
ming and  made  the  room  go  round  in  circles. 

And  all  during  this  process  Nichols  wound  him 
in  bandages  until  he  felt  as  tied  up  as  a  mummy. 
Whenever  they  gave  him  a  chance,  he  protested: 

"Look  here.  Can't  get  round  in  —  these  things." 

"I  don't  intend  to  have  you  get  round  for  some 
little  time,"  replied  Nichols.  "Don't  talk." 


46  JOAN  &  CO. 

Then  how  the  deuce  was  he  going  to  see  Sawyer? 
How  the  deuce  was  he  going  — ? 

But  it  was  not  possible  to  keep  a  thought  very 
long  at  a  time.  There  were  two  of  them  against 
him,  and  they  did  whatever  they  pleased. 

Even  when  they  were  all  through,  he  was  not 
any  more  comfortable  than  before.  He  was  in  a 
strait-jacket,  and  the  after-effects  of  the  ether 
were  the  usual  after-effects. 

After  a  while  Nichols  went  off.  The  nurse  re- 
mained. He  was  glad  of  that.  She  was  the  one  sane 
thing  in  a  world  grown  chaotic. 

He  must  have  slept  at  intervals  during  the 
night,  because  all  of  a  sudden  he  was  aware  that  it 
was  morning.  The  shaded  electric  light  had  gone 
out  and  the  room  was  suffused  with  the  white 
light  of  day.  The  nurse  was  still  there,  and  when 
he  spoke  to  her  she  came  over  and  asked  how  he 
felt. 

"Punk,"  he  answered. 

He  was  all  tied  up,  for  one  thing.  He  was  faint, 
for  another.  And  he  still  tasted  and  smelled  ether, 
for  another. 

"I'd  like  a  cup  of  coffee,"  he  said. 

"I'll  get  you  something  better,"  she  answered. 

After  an  interval  out  of  the  room  she  returned 
with  the  something  better.  Apparently  their  tastes 
differed,  for  it  was  not  better.  It  was  a  hot,  flabby 
drink,  like  gruel.  However,  he  swallowed  it,  and  it 


JOAN  &  CO.  47 

took  away  some  of  the  faint  feeling.  Shortly  he 
went  to  sleep  again;  and  this  time  when  he  awoke 
he  found  that  the  nurse  had  grown  slighter  and 
taller  and  had  changed  the  color  of  her  hair.  Or 
maybe  it  was  a  different  nurse. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Eleven  o'clock,"  she  replied. 

"You're  a  new  one?" 

"I'm  the  day  nurse." 

That  was  encouraging,  because  it  proved  that  he 
was  seeing  things  in  a  clearer  and  more  normal 
way.  He  felt  emboldened  now  to  examine  his  room 
more  in  detail.  It  was  an  extremely  satisfactory 
apartment.  Everything  in  it  was  quite  perfect  and 
fresh.  The  wall-paper  had  little  roses  in  it  and 
looked  as  though  it  had  been  put  on  within  a  day. 
The  bed  was  of  mahogany  with  a  dull  finish.  The 
dresser  in  the  corner  was  new,  and  all  the  odds  and 
ends  of  other  things  were  new  also.  It  looked  like 
one  of  those  windows  along  Fifth  Avenue  where 
such  articles  are  displayed  for  sale.  Only  he  had 
the  feeling  that  on  these  there  had  never  been  any 
price  tag.  If  ever  they  were  paid  for  it  had  been 
done  quietly  and  privately. 

The  linen  covering  him  was  choice.  He  felt  it.  It 
gave  him  a  sense  of  clean  luxury.  It  sank  into  him 
and  made  him  wish  he  were  shaved.  If  he  had  his 
razor  with  him  he  would  have  shaved  right  then, 
if  he  could  manage  it  with  his  left  hand.  He  put 


48  JOAN  &  CO. 

his  fingers  to  his  rough  face  to  see  if  it  could  be 
done. 

When  Nichols  came  in,  Devons  asked  him  if  he 
did  not  think  it  could  be  managed. 

"I'll  have  them  send  Jeffrey  up  to  you,"  nodded 
Nichols. 

"Jeffrey?" 

"Mr.  Fairburne's  man." 

"I  don't  want  to  put  the  family  to  any  more 
trouble  than  I  have.  I  could  do  it  myself." 

"I  doubt  it.  Besides,  it  is  n't  necessary." 

"How  long  am  I  going  to  be  here?" 

"A  month.  Perhaps  longer?" 

Devons  frowned. 

"That's  impossible,"  he  replied  firmly. 

"Miss  Fairburne  is  feeling  very  badly  about 
you.  Naturally,  she  wants  to  do  everything  she 
can  under  the  circumstances." 

"It  was  n't  her  fault.  You'll  tell  her  that  and  — 
thank  her  for  me?" 

"Certainly." 

After  feeling  his  pulse  and  taking  his  tempera- 
ture and  asking  a  hundred  or  so  questions,  Nichols 
declared  his  patient  was  doing  very  well. 

"Give  him  within  reason  all  he  wants  to  eat," 
he  ordered  the  nurse. 

Devons  heard  him  say  that,  or  he  would  not 
have  believed  it.  He  could  not  remember  ever  hav- 
ing had  all  he  wanted  to  eat — except  in  his  dreams. 


JOAN  &  CO.  49 

The  time  Reed  gave  him  that  ten  thousand  dollars 
he  had  gone  to  Delmonico's  and  ordered  oysters 
on  the  half-shell,  a  soup,  a  bit  of  fish,  a  big  steak 
with  hashed-brown  potatoes,  and  asparagus,  and 
an  ice,  and  concluded  with  coffee  and  cheese.  Only 
something  happened  before  it  got  to  him.  Probably 
something  would  happen  this  time. 

Jeffrey  came  up  with  a  "Good-morning,  sir," 
and  several  towels  over  his  arm  and  a  pitcher  of 
hot  water.  While  Devons  lay  on  his  back  without 
moving  and  with  his  eyes  closed,  Jeffrey  bent  over 
him  and  lathered  his  face  and  shaved  him  as  he 
had  never  been  shaved  before.  Then  he  washed  off 
the  soap  and  applied  hot  towels  —  steaming  hot 
towels  that  made  him  catch  his  breath  in  the  joy 
of  the  tingly  feeling  of  them.  Then  Jeffrey  put  on 
cold  cream  and  rubbed  it  in,  and  after  that  dusted 
his  cheeks  with  a  sweet-scented  powder.  Jeffrey 
even  combed  his  hair.  Then  quietly,  softly,  he 
stole  out,  leaving  Devons  with  the  hazy  notion 
that  it  had  all  been  done  by  magic.  Feeling  so  fine 
and  having  nothing  better  to  do,  he  went  to  sleep. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  he  awoke,  and  he  was 
hungry.  Now  was  the  time  to  test  if  what  Nichols 
had  said  about  food  was  true,  or  not.  He  did  not 
even  have  a  chance  to  tell  the  nurse  he  was  ready, 
because  at  that  point  she  opened  the  door  and 
came  in  with  a  tray.  She  placed  this  near  him.  It 
contained  eggs  on  toast,  little  triangle  pieces  of 


5o  JOAN  &  CO. 

toast  —  and  a  cup  of  cocoa  with  frothy  whipped 
cream  on  the  top  of  it.  He  tried  for  a  moment  to 
serve  himself  with  his  left  hand ;  but  he  made  such 
a  bungling  job  of  it  that  the  nurse  said : 

"You'd  better  let  me  help  you." 

So  she  did.  He  had  nothing  to  do  but  open  his 
mouth  like  an  overgrown  robin.  It  was  absurd. 
Also  it  was  deliciously  effortless.  And  he  had 
enough  —  all  he  wanted. 

When  he  was  through  she  brought  from  some- 
where a  large  vase  of  roses  and  placed  them  on 
a  little  table  by  his  head. 

"These  are  from  Miss  Fairburne  with  her  com- 
pliments," said  the  nurse.  "She  hopes  you  are 
feeling  comfortable." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  gasped  Devons. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHOSE  FAULT? 

THIS  went  on  for  three  or  four  days;  and, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  eat  and  sleep  and  in 
between  whiles  to  lie  at  languid  ease,  Devons 
grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and  all  the  minor 
sore  spots  vanished.  He  was  even  able  to  sit  up 
and  read.  All  the  magazines  he  ever  heard  of  were 
sent  to  him,  and  a  brand-new  book  every  day. 
Yet  he  did  not  read  very  much.  There  was  too 
much  here  to  live. 

For  the  time  being  he  was  as  well  off  personally 
—  except  for  the  inconvenience  of  being  half- 
swathed  in  bandages  —  as  though  all  his  dreams 
had  come  true.  It  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
compare  the  actuality  with  the  vision.  He  reso- 
lutely barred  his  thoughts  from  the  future.  He 
refused  for  a  little  while  to  ask  himself  how  this 
was  going  to  end,  and  what  was  to  become  of  him 
as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  leave.  After  all,  there  was 
not  much  he  could  do  about  that,  anyway.  There 
was  not  even  any  one  whom  it  was  necessary  to 
inform  as  to  his  whereabouts.  The  few  at  Mullen 
Court  who  were  aware  of  his  existence  would  pre- 
sume that  he  had  gone  away  .on  a  business  trip. 


52  JOAN  &  CO. 

They  did  not  worry  much  there  about  where  men 
came  from  or  where  they  went. 

The  sheer  material  comforts  surrounding  Devons 
were  as  balm  to  his  soul.  There  are  those  who 
seem  able  to  find  on  a  cot  in  a  garret  everything 
they  crave.  Arkwright  with  his  drawing  set  was 
more  or  less  of  this  sort,  though  he  had  more  than 
some  others.  Prescott  was  another  —  Prescott, 
the  slight  young  fellow  just  back  from  Paris,  who 
lived  at  the  top  of  the  next  house  across  the  alley 
and  who  used  to  call  to  him  out  of  his  window. 
Prescott  painted  wonderful  things  in  oil,  and  ap- 
peared content  with  doing  that,  whether  he  sold 
them  or  not.  He  went  over  to  see  him  one  night, 
and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  several  young 
ladies  in  queer,  unconventional  costumes  came  in, 
and  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle  Prescott  read 
to  them  from  the  plays  of  Maeterlinck.  It  was  a 
weird  performance,  with  a  great  deal  of  smoke 
and  not  much  to  eat.  Yet  every  one  but  himself 
was  satisfied.  He  returned  to  his  room  with  some- 
thing of  a  headache  and  dreamed  of  blind  children 
all  night. 

Frankly  he  liked  where  he  was  now  much  better. 
For  years  he  had  tried  to  make  dreams,  tried  to 
make  the  future  take  the  place  of  reality  and  the 
present.  This,  instead  of  growing  easier  with  pass- 
ing time,  became  increasingly  more  difficult.  At 
Technology  he  had  seen  men  doing  the  same  work 


JOAN  &  CO.  53 

he  was  doing,  and  at  the  same  time  enjoying  the 
comforts  of  life  to  a  reasonable  degree  while  they 
were  at  it.  He  had  no  advantage  over  them  even 
in  dreams.  And,  after  all,  clean  linen  was  clean 
linen  and  decent  garments  were  decent  garments, 
and  good  food  was  good  food,  and  money  was  a 
conjurer's  wand. 

Then  there  were  the  others  —  his  father  and 
mother  and  sisters.  But  here  they  did  not  count. 
It  disturbed  him  when  he  thought  of  them.  If 
only  they  could  come  on  and  be  pummeled  by  an 
automobile  — 

He  forced  himself  back  to  the  present.  He  must 
avoid  even  the  past.  He  informed  the  nurse  that  he 
was  thirsty  and  she  brought  him  a  glass  of  milk  — 
rich  milk  in  a  glass  that  sparkled  from  its  many 
cut  facets.  It  tasted  like  nectar. 

It  was  on  the  fifth  day,  in  the  afternoon,  that 
the  nurse  informed  him  that  Miss  Fairburne  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  visit  him  if  he  thought  he  had 
the  strength  to  see  any  one. 

"I'd  like  to  see  her,"  answered  Devons.    • -' 

And  yet,  he  faced  the  prospect  uneasily.  It  made 
him  realize,  for  one  thing,  how  self-centered  he  had 
been.  Except  remotely,  he  had  not  associated  her 
either  with  the  accident  or  with  his  present  sur- 
roundings. The  mere  fact  that  she  had  been  in  the 
car  when  he  was  struck  was  an  important  detail, 
to  be  sure;  but,  not  having  seen  her  at  the  time, 


54  JOAN  &  CO 

it  was  as  vague  as  hearsay  evidence.  That  he  was 
indebted  to  her  for  all  that  he  had  recently  been 
enjoying  was  also  an  undeniable  fact;  but  as  long 
as  she  had  been  embodied  to  him  no  more  con- 
cretely than  through  the  fragrance  of  the  roses 
she  sent  him  daily,  she  had  not  played  a  vital 
part  in  his  thoughts.  Now  he  was  a  little  afraid 
that  with  her  actual  presence  would  come  dis- 
illusionment. She  would  bring  him  back  to  actual 
work-a-day  conditions. 

The  few  times  he  had  seen  her  with  Mildred,  it 
had  been  with  a  sort  of  resentment.  He  had  thought 
of  her  as  having  in  excess  all  the  choice  things 
of  life  that  Mildred  lacked  —  as  completely  as 
he  himself  did.  Even  to  her  physical  beauty.  It 
seemed  as  though  if  justice  had  held  the  balance 
true,  Mildred  should  at  least  have  been  the  one 
to  possess  that  abundant  silken  black  hair,  those 
dark  eyes  that  set  a  man  to  wondering,  the  fine 
nose  and  mouth  that  were  so  subtly  distinctive. 
In  every  line  and  feature  she  revealed  her  tender 
nurture.  It  was  as  though  she  had  taken  on  some- 
thing from  all  the  beautiful  things  for  which  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth  had  been  searched.  Be- 
side her,  poor  Mildred's  blunt,  irregular  nose  and 
mouth  appeared  plainer  than  ever.  Knowing  as  he 
did  the  woman  beneath,  he  felt  something  to  be 
unjust  there. 

But  he  must  remember  that  Miss  Fairburne 


JOAN  &  CO.  55 

herself  had  found  the  real  Mildred  and  clung  to 
her  and  been  faithful  to  her  to  the  end.  It  was 
Miss  Fairburne  who  had  held  Mildred's  hand  at 
the  last  —  the  thin,  pitiful  little  hand  —  and  it 
was  Miss  Fairburne  whom  Mildred  had  trusted  to 
send  home  the  bitter  news.  Those  few  moments 
when  he  had  seen  her  in  the  infirmary  reception- 
room,  her  eyes  moist,  he  remembered  that  she 
had  seemed  to  him  like  another  Mildred.  She  had 
been  almost  like  one  of  the  home  folks  —  just  an 
ordinary  body  who  had  lost  a  sister. 

Then  she  had  gone  out  of  his  mind.  His  own 
affairs  had  preempted  all  his  thoughts.  Besides, 
she  vanished  shortly  into  her  own  world,  which 
to  him  then  was  as  though  she  had  been  whisked 
to  some  distant  planet. 

Yet  it  could  not  have  been  so  far  that  she  had 
gone.  Between  a  sleep  and  an  awakening  which 
to  him  was  no  longer  than  a  heart-beat,  he  had 
without  effort  compassed  the  distance  which  lay 
between  them.  In  the  old  days  such  things  had 
been  done,  he  knew,  with  the  aid  of  magic  carpets. 
But  he  had  no  such  aid.  Besides,  these  were  not 
the  old  days.  He  was  living  in  very  modern  times 
and  in  the  most  modern  of  all  modern  cities. 

Glancing  up  from  the  bed,  he  saw  in  the  door, 
what  at  first  looked  to  be  a  framed  picture.  It 
might  have  been  one  of  those  old  masterpieces 
with  the  vague  title  "Portrait  of  a  Young  Lady," 


56  JOAN  &  CO. 

which  leaves  one  eager  to  know  a  great  deal  more 
about  the  young  lady  than  history  vouchsafes. 
So  she  stood  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  some 
uncertainty  moved  into  the  room.  Devons  tried 
to  sit  up.  He  was  awkward  about  it,  and  she  hur- 
ried to  his  side. 

"Please  don't!"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
sorry  for  you!" 

The  beautiful  eyes  endorsed  the  assertion.  She 
appeared  so  genuinely  pained  that  he  did  not 
understand. 

"For  me?"  he  replied. 

The  sight  of  his  bandaged  shoulder  and  his 
helplessness  so  dramatized  the  accident  that  for  a 
second  it  was  more  vivid  to  her  than  it  had  been 
at  the  moment  it  occurred. 

"I  suppose  the  fact  that  you're  —  you're  alive 
is  something  to  be  thankful  for,"  she  faltered 
on. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad  to  be  alive,  if  that's 
what  you  mean." 

"You've  suffered  a  great  deal?" 

"None  at  all,  to  speak  of,"  he  replied. 

"Then  you're  not  uncomfortable  —  now?" 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"In  most  ways  I'm  more  comfortable  than  I 
ever  was  in  my  life." 

She  looked  skeptical.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to 
believe  that,  with  the  evidence  of  her  two  eyes. 


JOAN  &  CO.  57 

"I'm  afraid  you're  just  trying  to  take  away  the 
blame  from  me,"  she  returned. 

"Blame  —  for  what?"  he  demanded. 

"  For  —  for  the  accident.  After  all,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  me  you  would  not  have  been  injured." 

"It's  just  as  true  that  if  I  had  n't  tried  to  cross 
the  street  without  looking,  this  would  n't  have 
happened,"  he  declared. 

"But  if  Charles  had  been  more  careful!" 

"  Or  if  I  had  been  more  careful !  Or  if  I  had  taken 
a  different  street!  Or  if  I  had  delayed  anywhere 
along  the  route  thirty  seconds!  I  wonder  if  we 
know  any  more  about  such  things  than  that  either 
they  happen  or  they  don't." 

"You  feel  like  that?"  she  exclaimed,  as  though 
she  found  relief  in  the  notion. 

"I  haven't  thought  very  much  about  it,"  he 
admitted.  "But  when  you  stop  to  figure  out  the 
blame  you  have  to  go  back  further  than  just  the 
second  before.  And  if  you  do  that,  where  are  you 
going  to  stop?  If  something  had  turned  out  a  little 
differently  for  either  of  us  ten  minutes  before  —  " 

She  started.  It  sent  her  thoughts  back  to  Dicky. 
It  was  he  who  had  detained  her  at  Delmonico's. 
Perhaps,  then,  it  was  he  who  was  to  blame! 

"Or  an  hour  before,"  he  went  on.  "Or  a  day  or 
a  month  or  a  year.  I  was  born  on  Friday,  but  sup- 
posing I  had  not  been  born  until  Saturday?" 

It  was  her  seriousness  that  urged  him  to  follow 


58  JOAN  &  CO. 

his  fancy  through  to  so  grotesque  a  conclusion  — 
her  seriousness  and  a  desire  to  make  her  accept 
the  situation  more  lightly. 

"That  sounds  like  fatalism,"  she  said. 

"Does  it?" 

He  was  unaware  that  he  was  unfolding  any  par- 
ticular philosophy.  He  had  given  little  study  and 
less  thought  to  such  abstract  subjects.  His  work 
had  all  been  along  distinctly  more  concrete  and 
material  lines. 

She  had  taken  the  chair  by  his  bed,  and  her 
nearness  stimulated  him  like  wine. 

"At  any  rate,"  he  went  on,  "we  might  as  well 
call  it  that  and  let  it  go.  The  major  point  seems  to 
be  that  here  I  am." 

And  there  she  was.  Here  was  another  point 
which  until  this  moment  he  had  not  considered. 
All  this  while  she  had  been  in  the  house,  and  he 
had  never  given  that  a  thought.  She  would  prob- 
ably have  visited  him  yesterday  had  he  asked  for 
her. 

"Do  you  ever  hear  from  Mildred's  folks?"  he 
inquired. 

It  was  the  expression  about  her  mouth  that  re- 
called to  him  that  brief  former  association  with  her. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded.  "But  I  have  to  write  at 
least  three  letters  to  get  one  back.  I  have  a  feeling 
that,  merely  because  I  was  the  one  to  —  to  tell 
them,  they  blame  me." 


JOAN  &  CO.  59 

"That  is  possible,"  he  admitted.  "But  surely 
you  don't  blame  yourself?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  might  have  done  some- 
thing to  prevent  it." 

Devons  flushed.  There  had  been  times  when  he 
had  thought  as  much  himself.  He  had  wondered 
why,  with  all  her  wealth,  she  had  not  relieved 
Mildred  of  part  of  the  burden  of  her  poverty.  Yet 
he  knew  that  it  was  more  than  doubtful  if  Mildred 
would  have  allowed  it  —  any  more  than  he  him- 
self would  have  allowed  anything  of  the  sort  from 
one  of  his  classmates.  It  had  always  been  said  of 
the  Devonses  that  they  would  starve  before  ac- 
cepting a  favor.  His  father  was  like  that.  On  his 
little  hundred-acre  farm  he  was  as  cocky  as  a  lord 
on  country-wide  estates. 

"You  could  have  done  nothing,"  he  assured  her, 
with  a  sense  of  pride. 

"But  why  should  she  be  like  that  —  when  I 
wanted  to  help?" 

"It's  in  her  blood,"  he  replied. 

"It  was  n't  quite  fair,"  she  protested.  "She  was 
always  eager  to  do  what  she  could  for  me.  She 
helped  me  in  my  studies." 

"Yes." 

"And  when  I  wanted  —  in  the  only  way  I 
could  —  " 

She  checked  herself.  His  eyes  were  meeting  her 
eyes. 


60  JOAN  &  CO. 

"What  you  gave  her  at  the  end  was  what  she 
wanted,"  he  finished  for  her.  "Your  sympathy 
and  friendship." 

"But  the  other— " 

"Money?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"It  sounds  crude  to  put  it  that  way,"  she  ob- 
jected. "But  it  might  have  prevented  the  end." 

"Perhaps." 

"So  —  why  would  n't  she  let  me?" 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  make  you  understand," 
he  said.  "And  yet,  if  you  had  been  in  her  place 
I  'm  pretty  sure  you  'd  have  felt  exactly  as  she  felt." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Every  one  ought  to  be  allowed  to  help  every 
one  else  in  any  way  one  can,"  she  declared.  "I  — 
I  don't  know  what  else  we  're  living  for." 

"I  guess  most  of  us  don't  ask  that.  We  just 
plug  ahead,"  he  smiled. 

"Have  you  been  in  town  since  you  graduated?" 

.  "Since  fall,"  he  answered. 

He  offered  no  further  details.  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  conceive  that  his  personal  affairs  could 
be  of  any  interest  to  her. 

"Mildred  told  me  how  hard  you  work,"  she 
went  on.  "This  must  have  seriously  interfered 
with  your  business." 

"It  has  n't,"  he  assured  her. 

The  naked  truth  was  that,  if  anything,  it  had 
been  a  Godsend  to  him.  What  would  have  become 


JOAN  &  CO.  61 

of  him  in  another  day?  Sawyer  might  have  offered 
something;  but  even  then  there  would  have  been 
an  intervening  week  before  pay-day.  The  chances 
seemed  to  be  that  he  would  leave  his  bed  stronger 
and  more  fit  than  he  had  been  in  a  decade. 

"  If  you  have  any  business  letters  to  write  — 
won't  you  let  me  write  them  for  you?" 

"I  have  n't  any." 

"You're  —  you're  going  to  be  like  Mildred?" 

There  was  a  curiously  pathetic  note  in  her  voice. 
It  was  almost  childlike  in  its  plaintiveness. 

"I  'm  telling  you  the  truth,"  he  answered  quickly. 
"My  plans  were  at  a  standstill.  They  had  n't 
worked  out  as  I  expected." 

"Are  you  a  fatalist  about  such  things  too?"  she 
asked. 

He  thought  a  moment. 

"I  guess  I  might  as  well  be,"  he  answered. 

Her  eye  caught  the  magazines  on  a  table  near  the 
bed. 

"  If  I  can't  write  for  you,  I  can  read  to  you.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  offer  why  I  should  n't  do  that 
much?" 

"No,"  he  replied  frankly.  "I'd  like  to  have 
you." 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  anything  in  particular? " 

"Nothing  in  particular,"  he  answered. 

So  she  picked  up  a  magazine  and  selected  a 
story  at  random.  She  read  very  well,  but  after  all 


62  JOAN  &  CO. 

that  was  more  or  less  beside  the  point.  What  he 
was  really  interested  in  was  her  and  the  fact  that 
she  was  sitting  here  within  arm's  length  of  him.  It 
was  quite  the  nearest  he  had  ever  come  in  personal 
contact  to  any  one  as  supremely  beautiful  as  she. 
And  he  realized  that  she  was  an  integral  part  of  all 
these  surroundings  he  was  so  enjoying.  It  was  odd 
that  Arkwright  had  neglected  to  include  some- 
thing of  the  sort  in  the  plans  for  his  house.  Some- 
thing of  the  sort  was  necessary  in  the  plans  of  any 
house  assuming  to  be  more  than  a  mere  shelter. 
If  it  took  money  to  turn  the  blue-prints  into 
masonry,  after  that  it  took  something  like  this  to 
turn  the  masonry  into  a  home.  It  had  been  rather 
stupid  of  Arkwright  to  ignore  so  important  a  de- 
tail. He  must  call  his  attention  to  it  when  he  next 
saw  him. 

Devons  watched  her  eyes,  and  her  moving  lips, 
and  the  velvet  softness  of  her  cheek,  and  her  shell- 
like  ear,  and  the  curve  of  her  neck,  and  her  tender 
hands.  And  all  those  things  set  him  to  dreaming 
along  new  lines.  And  the  dreams  stiffened  his  lips. 
And  the  dreams  made  him  fret  a  little  that  he  was 
so  tied  up. 

Suddenly  she  closed  the  magazine. 

"That  was  a  very  good  story,  was  n't  it?"  she 
smiled. 

"A  very  good  story,  indeed,"  answered  Devons. 
"Thank  you." 


JOAN  &  CO.  63 

"You'd  like  me  to  read  another  to-morrow?" 

"  I  'd  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Devons. 

"Then  I'll  come  up  —  about  this  time,"  she 
promised  him. 

From  that  moment  he  began  to  look  forward  to 
this  time  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  LETTER 

DICKY  BURNETT  called  at  the  Fairburne 
house  every  afternoon  following  the  acci- 
dent, and  was  informed  daily  by  the  functionary 
at  the  door,  whom  up  to  now  he  had  rather  liked, 
that  "Miss  Fairburne  begs  to  be  excused  from 
seeing  any  one  to-day,  sir." 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  further  he  could 
do  about  it,  although  at  the  moment  he  always 
conceived  some  such  wild  plan  as  knocking  down 
the  innocent  butler  and  making  his  way  past  him. 
But  in  the  end  he  merely  left  his  card  and  meekly 
retired. 

Joan  did  not  give  him  a  chance.  If  it  had  only 
been  a  case  of  scrimmaging  his  way  to  her  side,  or 
of  scaling  a  wall  or  surmounting  any  other  kind  of 
natural  barrier,  he  would  at  least  have  had  the 
satisfaction  of  a  struggle,  even  if  he  failed  to  reach 
her.  But  to  be  foiled  by  nothing  more  tangible 
than  the  lady's  formal  refusal,  made  still  more 
negative  when  voiced  through  a  second  party  (an 
inconsequential  stick  of  a  second  party  whom  he 
felt  perfectly  sure  he  could  have  thrown  down  the 
stone  steps),  was  not  to  give  him  a  show. 


JOAN  &  CO.  65 

He  was  willing  to  admit  that  she  must  have 
suffered  a  good  deal  of  a  shock.  It  is  unpleasant 
enough  at  best  to  run  down  any  one,  and  to  a 
woman  of  her  delicate  sensibilities  it  must  have 
been  unnerving.  He  understood,  however,  that  it 
was  wholly  the  fellow's  fault.  He  understood 
further  that  the  man  was  not  seriously  injured,  and 
she  had  certainly  done  everything  in  her  power  to 
offset  the  damage.  If  the  fellow  had  any  sense  of 
appreciation  he  ought  to  consider  himself  for- 
tunate in  being  established  in  the  same  house  with 
her.  He  would  get  run  over  himself  for  the  op- 
portunity. 

By  the  end  of  the  fourth  day  Dicky  felt  that 
she,  if  not  her  victim,  should  have  fully  recovered. 
In  fact,  he  was  certain  of  it. 

Yet  she  canceled  all  her  social  obligations,  and 
persisted  in  refusing  to  see  him.  That  was  not  like 
her.  And  nothing  that  went  before  explained  it. 

He  had,  to  be  sure,  asked  her  to  marry  him  and 
she  had  refused.  But  surely  she  did  not  think  that 
he  was  cad  enough  to  make  a  scene  about  that. 
She  knew  him  well  enough  to  know  that  he  was 
not  the  kind  to  wave  his  arms  in  the  air  and  make 
himself  disagreeable  just  because  she  was  obliged 
to  tell  him  she  did  not  love  him.  He  had  hoped  up 
to  the  last  moment.  Good  Lord,  a  man  who  loved 
her  as  he  loved  her  could  not  be  blamed  for  that! 
When,  that  afternoon  at  Delmonico's,  he  had  told 


66  JOAN  &  CO. 

her  of  his  love  he  had  told  her  true.  With  all  there 
was  in  him,  he  loved  her.  With  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  had  ever  suspected  was  in  him,  he  loved 
her.  Because  of  this  he  had  hoped  to  the  end, 
though  he  knew  the  odds  were  a  thousand  to  one 
against  him.  They  would  be  that  against  any  man 
who  wanted  to  marry  her.  She  was  too  good  for 
them  all,  including  himself. 

Looking  at  the  proposition  calmly  —  which 
meant  leaving  out  of  the  question  for  the  moment 
all  such  personal  considerations  as  the  fact  that  he 
wanted  her,  reason  or  no  reason,  like  the  devil  — 
he  realized  that  he  could  offer  her  no  sufficient 
consideration  that  would  justify  him  in  expecting 
that  she  should  want  to  marry  him.  Neither  his 
social  position  nor  his  prospects  held  any  advan- 
tage over  her  social  position  and  prospects.  In 
fact  they  were  identical.  For  all  those  things  she 
might  just  as  well  stay  where  she  was.  If  he  were 
a  Rockefeller,  or  she  the  daughter  of  poor  but 
honest  parents  —  but  there  is  not  much  sense  in 
speculating  about  what  is  not.  There  was  just  as 
much  chance  of  his  making  himself  a  billionaire  as 
there  was  of  Fairburne  going  broke. 

A  man  to  win  her  would  have  to  bring  her  some- 
thing she  did  not  have  already.  Offhand  the  only 
type  he  could  think  of  was  some  foreign  duke  or 
lord  with  a  couple  of  million  acres  and  a  chest 
plastered  over  with  various  orders,  and  a  trunk 


JOAN  &  CO.  67 

full  of  crown  jewels.  But  if  ever  he  saw  anything 
of  the  kind  snooping  around  he  would  nail  him. 
He  would  pummel  him  to  within  an  inch  of  his 
life  if  he  went  to  jail  for  it.  He  used  to  find  con- 
siderable relief  in  picturing  himself  about  that 
task. 

Barring  the  nobility,  what  in  thunder  could  a 
man  bring  her?  There  were  serious  moments  when 
Dicky  Burnett  searched  his  soul  for  an  answer  to 
that  question.  With  the  need  of  her  came  the  need 
of  doing  something  for  her  —  the  need  of  making 
himself  of  use  to  her.  And  the  serious  part  of  it  all 
was  that  he  could  find  no  way.  That  her  love 
should  call  back  to  his  love  —  that  it  should  be  as 
simple  as  this  —  he  never  even  considered.  He  was 
not  that  worthy  of  her.  She  was  too  fine,  too  rare, 
too  wonderful  to  allow  an  ordinary  man  to  conceive 
anything  so  rash.  He  labored  under  no  delusions 
about  himself.  He  was  decent  and  he  was  honest 
and  he  loved  her.  That  was  all.  There  were  a 
thousand  men  who,  if  ever  they  had  the  chance 
to  learn  her  as  he  had,  could  say  the  same.  He 
was  neither  better  nor  worse  than  these  others 
who  in  their  turn  might  come  along.  Any  man 
who  did  not  love  her  after  knowing  her  would  be 
an  ass. 

These  were  some  of  the  things  that  he  wished 
to  tell  her.  She  must  not  think  it  was  necessary  to 
avoid  him;  to  hide  from  him  like  a  hunted  rabbit. 


68  JOAN  &  CO. 

So  when,  on  the  sixth  day,  he  called  at  the  house 
and  received  his  stereotyped  refusal,  he  went  back 
to  the  Harvard  Club,  instead  of  going  on  to  keep 
his  engagement  for  tea  with  the  Henshaws,  and 
in  the  seclusion  of  the  library  sat  down  and  wrote 
her  a  letter.  He  was  not  especially  skillful  at  that 
sort  of  thing.  He  wrote  bluntly  in  a  bold  hand, 
with  his  thoughts  bent  upon  what  he  wished  to 
say  rather  than  any  grace  of  composition. 

Dear  Joan  [he  began] :  I  want  very  much  to  see 
you.  Won't  you  please  let  me  in  next  time  for  just 
a  few  minutes  ?  If  you  're  afraid  because  you  think 
I'm  going  to  bother  you  with  telling  you  some 
more  that  I  love  you  —  why,  I  promise  I  won't. 
I  don't  mean  by  this  I  promise  not  to  love  you.  I 
could  n't  very  well  promise  that,  because  I  do. 
And  that  goes  on  just  the  same  whether  I  see  you 
or  not,  so  it  need  n't  make  any  difference  one  way 
or  the  other,  need  it? 

I  have  been  wandering  round  town  all  alone  for 
pretty  nearly  a  week  now,  and  I  'm  getting  mighty 
homesick.  That's  what  Hollister  says  —  it  is  just 
plain  homesickness.  Ever  have  it?  You  feel  like  a 
cat  in  a  strange  garret,  and  wander  around  without 
any  stopping-places.  Even  when  I  go  home,  the 
house  has  a  foreign  look,  as  though  a  whole  lot  of 
things  were  missing,  even  though  you  can't  find 
anything  gone. 


JOAN  &  CO.  69 

I  guess  it's  you  that's  missing  at  home  and 
everywhere  I  go.  I  did  n't  realize  until  now  how 
much  I  must  have  carried  you  round  with  me  in 
my  mind.  Even  dear  old  dad,  who  does  n't  pay 
much  attention  to  my  affairs  because  he  does  n't 
think  they  amount  to  much,  looked  up  at  dinner 
the  other  night  and  said,  "Where's  Joan?" 

I  Ve  told  him  a  little  about  you.  I  could  n't 
help  it. 

And  every  so  often,  wherever  I  am,  I  give  a 
start  myself  and  say,  "Where's  Joan?" 

I  miss  not  seeing  you  even  though  I  know  you're 
all  right.  After  all,  remembering  any  one  is  n't  like 
seeing  her.  I  know  perfectly  well  your  hair  is  black 
and  just  how  it's  going  to  look  when  I  do  see 
it;  but  that  is  n't  the  same.  Queer,  but  it  is  n't. 
And  that's  true  of  your  eyes  and  nose  and  mouth 
and  all  the  rest  of  you.  I  want  to  look  at  you 
again  and,  even  if  you  don't  love  me,  there's  no 
harm,  is  there?  I  won't  take  any  of  you  away 
by  doing  that.  There'll  be  just  as  much  of  you 
left. 

I  want  to  hear  your  voice  too  —  even  if  you  tell 
me  things  I  won't  like  to  hear.  And  I  want  —  oh, 
I  just  want  to  see  you,  Joan.  Won't  you  tell  his 
nibs  at  the  door  to  let  me  in?  .._  ,^ 

Please. 

Of  all  I  told  you  last  time,  I  want  you  to  remem- 
ber this  most!  that  I'm  always  within  reach  if  you 


70  JOAN  &  CO. 

need  me  for  anything.  Lord  knows,  I  can't  think 
of  much  I  could  do.  I  wish  I  might. 
Good-bye,  Joan. 

DICK. 

P.S.  If  you  don't  see  me  to-morrow,  I  '11  believe 
it  was  you  who  was  run  over.  D. 

It  helped  some  just  to  write  to  her. 


j 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DICKY  CALLS 

OAN  had  been  staying  a  great  deal  in  her  room 
for  the  past  week.  It  was  partly  upon  the  ad- 
vice of  Dr.  Nichols,  and  partly  upon  the  advice  of 
her  mother  and  father;  but  it  is  very  doubtful  if 
their  superior  knowledge  would  have  had  quite  as 
much  weight  as  it  did  if  Joan  herself  had  not  wel- 
comed the  internment.  To  be  sure,  the  shock  had 
been  considerable;  but  after  the  first  temporary 
and  purely  normal  reaction  came  a  second  re- 
action, which  was  not  correctly  diagnosed  either 
by  her  parents  or  the  physician.  Nichols,  looking 
merely  at  her  heightened  color  and  brighter  eyes, 
feared  hysteria.  Mrs.  Fairburne  took  it  to  be  dis- 
appointment at  the  many  social  engagements 
Joan  was  forced  to  cancel.  She  tried  hard  not  to 
blame  any  one  for  the  situation ;  but  upon  several 
occasions  she  observed  darkly  to  her  husband : 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  some  one  was  stupid  to 
allow  such  a  misfortune  —  at  the  height  of  the 
social  season." 

The  first  time  he  heard  this,  Fairburne  squared 
his  shoulders  a  trifle,  as  though  considering  that 
he  himself  might  be  involved  in  the  general  accu- 
sation. 


72  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Not  you,  of  course,  my  dear,"  she  hastened  to 
assure  him;  "but  some  one." 

Yet  Charles  was  not  discharged.  Then  appar- 
ently the  fault  lay  between  Devons  and  Fate. 
Anyhow,  it  was  more  or  less  immaterial. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  for  the  peace  of 
mind  of  all  concerned  that  it  was  not  generally 
known  that  Joan  really  was  enjoying  one  of  the 
most  interesting  experiences  of  her  life  there  in  the 
privacy  of  her  room.  Certainly  to  have  informed 
Dr.  Nichols  that  she  felt  every  sense  to  be  more 
alert  than  formerly  would  have  contributed  nothing 
to  science;  to  have  explained  to  her  parents  that 
she  was  enjoying  as  a  luxury  the  privilege  of  calling 
her  time  her  own  would  not  have  left  them  any 
the  wiser;  to  have  confessed  to  Dicky  that  she 
felt  even  a  certain  relief  from  him  would  not  have 
done  a  particle  of  good  in  that  direction.  Half  the 
joy  of  her  joy  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  was  a  very 
intimate  and  personal  and  secret  joy. 

As  soon  as  she  learned,  through  Dr.  Nichols, 
that  there  was  not  the  slightest  element  of  danger 
in  Devons's  condition;  that  in  all  probability  the 
man,  with  good  care,  would  leave  in  better  con- 
dition than  he  came,  it  was  as  though  she  had 
found  an  opportunity. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  Nichols  had  told  her, 
"you  can  credit  yourself  with  having  saved  his 
life." 


JOAN  &  CO.  73 

"How?"  she  asked  doubtfully. 

"The  man  has  n't  been  getting  enough  to  eat," 
Nichols  informed  her. 

"Not  enough  to  eat?"  It  sounded  like  an  ab- 
surd statement. 

"He  tells  me  he  has  been  living  on  a  diet  of 
black  coffee  and  tobacco." 

"But  why  should  one  do  that?"  she  inquired. 

"Because,"  answered  Nichols,  "it  is  very  in- 
expensive. Of  course  he  could  have  invested  the 
same  amount  of  money  to  better  advantage  in 
some  other  type  of  food-stuff,  but  it's  doubtful  if 
he  would  have  got  as  much  comfort  out  of  it." 

"Then  he  must  be  very,  very  poor." 

"I  gather  he  is." 

So  here,  in  a  way,  was  the  case  of  Mildred  all 
over  again.  With  a  difference.  The  difference  was 
that  Devons  —  well,  it  did  make  a  difference  that 
he  was  —  he.  At  best,  there  is  less  opportunity  for 
a  woman  to  be  of  assistance  to  another  woman 
than  to  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  even  in  an  im- 
personal way.  The  response  is  less  keen.  It  does 
not  touch  the  same  depths. 

Not  that  she  was  in  the  slightest  sentimental 
about  it.  She  was  absolutely  normal.  Even  the  ex- 
citement of  the  situation  was  normal.  Nichols  to 
the  contrary,  her  attitude  was  not  even  remotely 
associated  with  hysteria,  or  with  mawkish  senti- 
mentality. It  had  more  to  do  with  what  she  had 


74  JOAN  &  CO. 

vaguely  described  to  Dicky  at  that  last  meeting 
as  "the  big  adventure."  It  was  as  though  this  man 
Devons  had  made  a  breach  in  the  high  wall  sur- 
rounding her  and  offered  her  opportunity  to  ven- 
ture a  little  way  beyond  into  the  quick  life  that 
men  and  women  led  outside  —  the  life  that 
treated  men  and  women  like  men  and  women  and 
not  like  daintily  dressed  dolls. 

Devons  had  gone  hungry!  There  was  nothing, 
perhaps,  in  that  to  make  any  one  envy  him;  and 
yet,  it  stood  for  something.  At  least,  that  had 
intensified  the  hours  to  him.  He  had  been  like  a 
harp  with  the  strings  drawn  too  taut,  drawn  almost 
to  the  breaking  point;  but  she  had  been  like  a  harp 
with  the  strings  sagging.  Of  the  two  it  would  be 
easier  to  play  the  taut  strings.  After  all,  it  might 
be  better  to  be  hungry  than  surfeited.  The  very 
hour  that  she  had  sat  with  listless  interest  before 
the  delicacies  at  Delmonico's,  he  had  been  wander- 
ing, dazed  and  hungry,  through  the  snow.  It  was 
a  question  who  was  in  the  worse  plight. 

That  was  only  a  detail,  anyway.  But  how  it 
dramatized  the  same  safe,  uneventful  streets 
through  which  she  rode  in  her  snug  machine!  And 
how  curious  that,  as  though  in  response  to  her  cry, 
this  should  be  brought  to  her  in  her  own  home. 

Was  there  some  truth  in  that  strange  doctrine 
of  fatalism  —  that  our  lives  are  mapped  out  for 
us  ahead  and  that,  however  remote  the  possibil- 


JOAN  &  CO.  75 

ity  may  seem,  we  must  travel  the  foreordained 
road? 

Staring  from  her  window  at  night,  she  wondered 
with  quickened  breath.  Looking  back,  her  meeting 
with  Mildred  may  have  been  significant.  She  had 
come  upon  her  quite  by  chance,  and  through  her 
had  met  Devons.  At  the  time  it  had  seemed  the 
most  trivial  and  commonplace  of  incidents;  yet, 
if  that  had  not  been,  it  is  probable  that  Devons 
would  have  been  sent  off  out  of  her  life  to  a  hos- 
pital. She  had  brought  him  here  and  insisted  upon 
his  remaining  because  of  Mildred.  It  was  signifi- 
cant, too,  that  on  that  very  afternoon  she  had  not 
ridden  back  with  Dicky  —  that  she  was  alone  at 
the  appointed  moment. 

Poor  Dicky!  She  was  rather  sorry  that  it  had 
been  necessary  to  involve  him.  If  only  he  had  not 
said  what  he  did  say,  she  would  have  turned  to 
him  now.  She  would  have  liked  to  discuss  the 
whole  question  with  him.  She  supposed  it  was  pos- 
sible even  now;  only  —  well,  she  was  afraid  he 
would  not  understand.  She  was  afraid  it  might 
trouble  him.  And  in  a  sense  she  felt  responsible 
for  his  peace  of  mind.  She  should  have  foreseen 
what  might  come  of  their  relations.  Only,  she  had 
never  thought  it  possible  for  him  to  be  as  serious 
as  he  had  seemed  when  he  spoke.  Even  if  he 
imagined  himself  in  love  with  her,  she  thought 
she  would  recognize  it  as  pure  imagination.  It  was 


76  JOAN  &  CO. 

as  natural  for  Dicky  to  fall  in  love,  in  fancy,  with 
any  woman  with  whom  he  might  be  thrown  in 
contact  any  length  of  time  as  it  was  for  him  to 
breathe.  He  had  confessed  several  previous  ro- 
mances to  her. 

It  was  probable,  then,  that  this  was  just  another. 
She  should  have  held  to  that.  But  somehow  it  was 
difficult.  She  had  not  laughed  when  he  told  her  of 
his  love.  If  she  had  given  way  to  her  emotions  the 
chances  are  she  would  have  cried.  She  had  found 
some  new  quality  in  his  eyes  and  his  voice.  Then 
she  liked  the  way  he  stood  square-shouldered 
when  she  told  him  the  naked  truth.  And  actually, 
she  had  felt  a  sense  of  possessing  something  rare 
and  wonderful  in  the  loyalty  that  prompted  him 
to  his  offer. 

"I  want  you  to  feel  you  have  some  one  always 
ready  to  call  on."  So  the  ladies  of  romance  used  to 
receive  an  oath  of  allegiance  from  their  knights. 

Then  to-day  a  note  from  him  had  come  which 
she  had  read  with  misty  eyes.  It  was  so  direct  and 
uncomplaining  that  it  tightened  her  throat.  There 
was  a  great  deal  about  Dicky  that  was  likable. 
She  could  be  with  him  more  than  with  any  other 
man  she  knew,  if  only  he  would  not  talk  about 
love;  because  love  meant  something  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  anything  Dicky  dreamed.  It  had  to  do 
with  life.  It  had  to  do  with  —  adventure.  It  had 
to  do  with  big,  earnest  things,  with  real  things, 


JOAN  &  CO.  77 

with  heart-breaking  things,  perhaps.  All  of  which 
Dicky  knew  nothing  about. 

But,  after  reading  his  note  twice,  she  sent  down 
word  to  Sparrow  that  she  would  be  at  home  that 
day  to  Mr.  Richard  Burnett.  If  Sparrow  felt  a 
certain  sense  of  relief,  it  would  be  nothing  sur- 
prising, because  the  last  time  he  had  given  his 
message  to  the  man  he  had  hesitated  about  hold- 
ing the  door  open  as  wide  as  usual. 

Dicky  did  not  come  until  after  four,  which  was 
unfortunate,  because  she  had  a  very  important 
appointment  at  four-thirty,  and  told  him  so  almost 
at  once. 

"You're  going  out?"  he  inquired  hopefully. 

"No,"  she  replied  with  some  embarrassment. 

He  concluded  then  that  a  milliner  or  something  of 
the  kind  was  coming  to  the  house;  and  that,  if  one 
looked  far  enough  ahead,  was  encouraging,  because 
it  suggested  that  she  was  preparing  to  go  out  again. 

So  he  sat  down  and  talked  with  her  about  this 
thing  and  that  very  rationally  and  good-naturedly, 
as  he  might  have  done  a  week  ago.  In  many  ways 
he  seemed  more  himself  than  he  had  for  several 
weeks,  because  she  realized  now  that  for  some 
time  he  had  not  been  exactly  normal. 

Then  he  gave  a  new  turn  to  the  conversation  by 
observing: 

"  It  must  be  mighty  dull  for  you  to  be  shut  up  in 
the  house,  Joan." 


78  JOAN  &  CO. 

And  she  answered,  speaking  the  truth,  "Only  it 
is  n't,  Dicky." 

"But  what  do  you  do  with  yourself  all  day?" 

That  was  a  difficult  question  to  answer  directly. 
From  his  point  of  view  she  supposed  she  was  not 
doing  very  much,  because  most  of  the  interest  of 
these  days  came  from  within  herself.  And  she  could 
not  very  well  let  him  into  the  secret  of  her  thoughts. 
So  she  answered: 

"I  don't  think  I  could  make  you  understand, 
Dicky.  Only  truly  it  is  n't  stupid." 

He  looked  up  with  a  frown. 

"You  don't  give  me  credit  for  understanding 
much  of  anything,  do  you,  Joan?" 

"It  is  n't  that,"  she  tried  to  reassure  him.  "Only 
—  supposing  I  don't  understand  myself  very  well?" 

"I  don't  think  you  do." 

"Then  —  " 

"Oh,  we'll  only  get  mixed  up  again  if  we  go  on 
like  that,"  he  interrupted.  "Tell  me  something 
about  this  fellow  you  ran  over." 

She  looked  frightened. 

"I  did  n't  run  over  him."  She  shuddered.  "Don't 
make  it  any  worse  than  it  is." 

"Well,  you  started  to." 

"There's  a  big  difference." 

"I  suppose  there  is,"  he  admitted.  "Who  is  he?" 

"Oh,  I  hope  some  day  you  can  meet  him.  You'd 
like  him,  Dicky." 


JOAN  &  CO.  79 

"Perhaps." 

"He's  a  Technology  man  and  —  " 

"He's  what?" 

"Technology." 

Dicky  appeared  concerned. 

"I  did  n't  know  that.  Some  one  told  me  he  was 
a  'bus  driver." 

"Why,  Dicky,  he's  a  wonderful  fellow.  He  has 
invented  something.  Only  he's  very,  very  poor." 

"Inventors  always  are,"  he  nodded. 

"And  he  has  tried  so  hard  to  make  his  way.  He 
—  he  was  almost  starving  when  —  " 

She  did  not  like  to  fill  in  the  ellipsis. 

"When  you  partly  ran  over  him,"  he  suggested. 

"It's  nothing  to  make  fun  about,"  she  warned. 

"Go  on." 

"And  I  'd  met  him  before.  I  knew  a  cousin  of  his 
at  college." 

"You  did?" 

"  She  was  wonderful,  too." 

"Runs  in  the  family?" 

"They  are  from  out  West." 

"Anywhere  in  particular  out  West?" 

"From  Montana." 

"Just  Montana?" 

He  was  laughing  at  her  now,  and  she  resented 
it  —  resented  it  with  more  genuine  feeling  than 
she  would  have  thought  possible.  Her  lips  closed 
firmly. 


$0-  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  shan't  tell  you  anything  more  about  him," 
she  decided. 

"Now,  look  here  —  "  he  protested,  making  his 
feet  in  some  alarm. 

"No,  I  mean  it,"  she  replied. 

"I  was  only  fooling,  Joan.  I  did  n't  know  —  " 

He  was  studying  her  face.  She  was  in  dead 
earnest.  He  knew  that.  He  always  knew  when  she 
was  in  earnest. 

"Good  Heavens,  Joan  —  "  he  began. 

But  she  had  risen  too,  and  was  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"You  must  excuse  me  now,"  she  said.  "It  is 
almost  half-past  four." 

Dicky  caught  his  breath. 

"You're  going  —  back  to  him?"  he  demanded. 

It  was  a  foolish  thing  for  him  to  say.  He  realized 
it  the  moment  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth. 
He  saw  her  toss  up  her  head  —  saw  her  look  the 
princess. 

"Must  I  account  for  my  movements  to  you?" 
she  asked. 

"You  know  better,  Joan,"  he  cut  in  quickly. 
"Only—" 

"Good-bye,"  she  insisted. 

He  took  her  hand. 

"I  don't  care  where  you 're  going  or  who  it  is 
you're  going  to  see;  but  you'll  let  me  call 
again?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  81 

"Do  you  think  you've  made  yourself  very 
agreeable?" 

In  holding  her  hand  he  held  an  advantage.  She 
could  not  very  well  leave  until  he  let  go. 

"Next  time —  "  he  began. 

"Oh,  all  right,  Dicky;  I'll  try  you  once  more. 
Please  let  me  go." 

So  he  let  her  go,  and  in  an  instant  she  had  van- 
ished —  none  too  politely. 

Sparrow  opened  the  door.  Dicky  wondered  if  it 
would  not  be  well  to  inform  the  man  of  her  promise 
to  admit  him  again,  in  case  she  herself  forgot.  Then 
other  thoughts  crowded  in  upon  him,  and  he  went 
down  the  steps  in  a  kind  of  daze. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  FIGHTING  THINGS 

TT7HEN  Joan  came  into  Devons's  room,  she 
VV  found  him  propped  up  on  the  pillows,  star- 
ing at  the  brass  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"You're  five  minutes  late,"  he  informed  her. 

It  was  so  trivial  a  matter  to  mention  that  Nurse 
Ware,  who  sat  in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room 
knitting  and  trying  to  look  both  deaf  and  dumb, 
involuntarily  raised  her  eyes. 

"I  was  delayed  by  a  caller,"  Joan  explained. 

Nurse  Ware  turned  to  face  the  window,  and 
from  that  point  on  assumed  that  she  was  some- 
where else.  As  far  as  either  Joan  or  Devons  cared, 
she  might  have  been  in  Jericho. 

"It's  curious,"  said  Devons,  "how  the  more 
time  you  have  on  your  hands  the  closer  you  watch 
the  clock.  This  last  five  minutes  has  seemed  like 
an  hour." 

"You  should  have  been  reading,"  she  laughed. 

"I  was  waiting  for  you  to  read." 

The  color  came  to  her  cheeks. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  answered. 

But  it  seemed  that,  after  all,  neither  had  any- 
thing especial  he  wished  to  hear;  and  so,  when 
she  had  looked  through  the  table  of  contents  of 


JOAN  &  CO.  83 

a  magazine  or  two,  Joan  found  herself,  in  spite  of 
the  original  urgency  of  her  mission,  sitting  back 
and  idly  talking.  Doubtless  a  fair  explanation  of 
this  was  that  she  had  discovered  that  he,  as  a 
cross-section  of  real  life,  was  more  interesting  to 
her  than  any  fiction,  which  at  best  is  merely  a 
reflection  of  reality.  As  for  him,  his  experience 
with  at  least  a  dozen  heroines  during  the  past 
week  proved  positively  that  the  most  brilliant  of 
the  authors  were  stupid  and  clumsy  when  the 
work  of  their  pens  was  put  in  such  close  juxta- 
position with  actuality  as  in  the  present  case. 
Even  a  poet  cannot  describe  black  hair  like  hers 
as  well  as  a  man  can  see  it  —  or  eyes  or  nose  or 
mouth.  Then  there  were  a  thousand  other  details, 
and  these  other  details  were  changing  from  second 
to  second  —  changing  so  subtly  that  words  were 
powerless  to  trace  the  shadings.  Sometimes  they 
were  scarcely  visible,  but  were  rather  variations 
of  moods  as  intangible  as  his  own  moods.  Super- 
ficially, for  example,  her  eyes  remained  always  the 
same  in  color  and  size,  and  yet  they  were  never 
the  same  a  minute  at  a  time.  Even  she  as  a  whole 
did  not  remain  fixed,  because,  as  with  each  visit 
he  came  to  know  her  better  and  came  to  realize 
how  much  more  there  was  to  know,  she  developed 
like  a  portrait  on  canvas  under  the  hands  of  an 
artist. 
His  attitude  toward  her  at  first  had  been  one  of 


84  JOAN  &  CO. 

challenge.  He  had  expected  a  certain  class  feeling 
to  make  itself  manifest  in  her.  He  was  ready  to 
resent  any  superiority  she  might  express,  even 
unconsciously,  as  a  result  of  her  social  position 
and  wealth.  He  was  for  a  little  while  the  elder 
Devons  with  all  the  latter's  pride  in  his  few  acres 
and  liberty.  But  as  he  found  nothing  to  pit  his 
aggressiveness  against  he  began  to  realize  that 
after  all  it  was  he  if  any  one  who  was  playing  the 
cad.  She  was  more  natural  and  genuine  than  he. 
In  not  accepting  her  for  just  what  she  was,  he  was 
unfair. 

He  was  especially  conscious  of  that  to-day.  And 
so  he  allowed  himself  to  unfold  to  her  something 
of  his  past.  It  was  at  her  prompting. 

"I  envy  you  and  Mildred  the  chance  you've 
had  to  travel  and  see  things,"  she  observed. 

"Have  n't  you  traveled?"  he  asked. 

"Only  a  little,  abroad,"  she  answered. 

To  him  that  was  the  only  kind  of  real  traveling 
there  was.  The  few  back  home  who  had  been  to 
London  or  Paris  were  looked  upon  with  something 
like  reverence. 

"Then  you've  seen  more  than  I,"  he  declared. 

"Of  buildings  and  pictures,  perhaps.  But  always 
I  took  my  own  little  world  with  me." 

"You  were  lucky  to  have  it." 
•."You  think  so?" 

He  smiled. 


JOAN  &  CO.  85 

"All  this,"  he  went  on,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand 
about  the  room,  "means  —  I  wonder  if  you  realize 
how  much  it  means?" 

"I  wonder  if  you  realize  how  little  it  means?" 
she  ventured  back. 

He  glanced  up  in  surprise.  Then  he  smiled  again. 

"I  suppose  facts,  from  a  distance,  get  toned 
down,"  he  went  on.  "But  when  you  have  to  live 
them  they  stay  pretty  much  as  they  are.  You've 
never  been  out  West?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

"It's  a  wonderful  country  —  to  some,"  he  said. 
"To  others  —  my  father  was  born  out  there.  He 
grew  up  and  married  out  there.  He  has  worked 
like  a  galley  slave  out  there  —  all  within  ten  miles 
of  where  he  was  born." 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  she  begged. 

"That's  about  all  there  is  to  tell  of  him,"  said 
Devons  grimly.  "I  suppose  he  had  some  ambition 
at  first,  but  he  stayed  where  he  was.  He  married 
early,  and  had  ten  children  before  he  was  forty. 
Then  he  had  to  stay.  He  just  plugged  along  day 
after  day  without  energy  enough  left  to  look  ahead 
to  the  next  day.  Most  of  his  life  it's  just  been  a 
question  of  getting  enough  to  eat  for  himself  and 
the  others." 

Her  eyes  were  sympathetic. 

"He  was  honest  and  decent  and  worked  hard. 
It  does  n't  seem  fair,  does  it?" 


86  JOAN  &  CO. 

t  "No." 

"I  don't  know  how  I  happened  to  wake  up.  I 
guess  it  was  the  teacher  I  had  when  I  went  to  the 
district  school.  She  urged  me  on  to  the  high  school, 
though  that  meant  leaving  home.  And  there  I  did 
so  well  in  chemistry  that  a  teacher  from  the  East 
suggested  Technology.  I  did  n't  think  I  could  make 
it  at  first  —  but  I  did.  I  got  my  degree.  Then  — 
well,  here  I  am." 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

"What  about  between  Technology  and — here  ? " 
she  asked. 

"That's  the  story  of  a  dream  that  did  n't  come 
true,"  he  answered. 

"You'll  tell  me  about  it  some  day?" 

"I  think  you'd  find  the  stories  in  the  magazine 
pleasanter,"  he  returned.  "In  those  the  dreams 
all  come  true." 

"Perhaps  that's  because  they  go  through  to  the 
end." 

He  was  thoughtful  a  moment,  and  then  he 
nodded,  his  lips  firm. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "There's  that  difference." 

"Why,  you  —  you've  just  begun! " 

He  met  her  eyes.  He  had  a  curious  sense  of 
looking  deeply  into  them.  Then  she  turned  away, 
half  afraid  of  her  impulsiveness. 

"Just  begun,"  he  repeated. 

It  was  the  echo  of  a  new  impulse  that  had  been 


JOAN  &  CO.  87 

stirring  him  for  the  last  few  days.  With  the  long, 
restful  nights  and  the  nourishing  food,  his  physical 
strength  had  fast  returned.  With  that  had  come 
a  new  outlook  —  an  outlook  that  carried  him  to 
such  dizzy  heights  that  he  had  drawn  back,  sus- 
picious of  it.  It  made  all  his  former  dreams  seem 
feeble  in  comparison. 

After  all,  he  had  never  looked  very  far  ahead 
into  the  future  because  —  he  faced  the  truth  — 
because  he  had  been  so  self-centered.  Reed  and  his 
ten  thousand  represented  the  climax.  Even  the 
return  home  was  to  be  in  the  nature  of  a  personal 
triumph.  Always  he  saw  himself  in  that  picture  as 
occupying  the  center  of  the  stage.  Then  a  slow 
curtain  with  music. 

These  new  pictures,  as  yet  but  faintly  sketched 
in,  —  the  idle  pencil  movements,  of  an  artist  feeling 
his  way,  —  were  different.  As  nearly  as  he  could 
make  out,  he  did  not,  in  these,  preempt  the  fore- 
ground. Another  figure  was  there.  He  scarcely 
dared  identify  it,  except  in  a  very  general  way. 

In  a  very  general  way  it  was  evidently  the  figure 
of  a  woman — a  very  beautiful  woman  with  a  hint  of 
luxuriant  hair.  In  the  forehead  and  nose  and  mouth 
he  caught  a  general  resemblance  to  some  one  he 
knew,  though  he  did  not  venture  to  call  her  by  name. 
Besides,  it  was  not  this  which  so  greatly  mattered. 
The  fact  which  counted  most  was  that  she — who- 
ever she  was  —  remained  always  in  the  foreground. 


88  JOAN  &  CO. 

Yet  he  himself  was  not  entirely  eliminated.  Far 
from  it.  He  was  present,  but  at  some  little  dis- 
tance, and  struggling  toward  her  like  a  figure  in  an 
allegory.  Just  what  the  meaning  of  this  was  he 
was  not  certain.  It  might  be  some  very  broad 
subject  —  Youth  struggling  with  Success  —  like 
those  in  Bunyan's  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  except 
that  he  was  a  great  deal  too  intimately  identified 
with  it  for  that.  Whoever  the  woman  might  be, 
there  was  no  doubt  at  all  but  that  he  was  the  man. 
And  with  all  his  might  and  main  he  was  trying  to 
fight  his  way  closer  to  her.  He  did  not  even  know 
what  for,  but  there  seemed  to  be  some  acute  neces- 
sity. It  was  as  though  everything  in  life  worth 
while  depended  upon  his  reaching  her  side.  To  do 
that  he  must  accomplish  certain  things,  and  this 
took  him  back  again  to  those  first  weeks  in  New 
York  and  to  the  old  hopes  reborn.  Like  all  new- 
born things,  —  like  the  day  at  dawn,  like  the  earth 
in  spring,  like  a  man  in  love,  —  these  hopes  came 
to  him  fresher  and  keener  than  ever.  But  here 
again  there  was  a  difference.  They  did  not  so  much 
concern  him  —  except  as  a  medium — as  Her. 
They  were  a  feature  of  the  struggle  toward  Her. 

"You've  just  begun,"  she  said. 

It  was  more  than  that.  He  had  just  been  born. 
The  past  leading  to  this  present  had  been  merely 
a  period  of  conception.  He  thought  he  had  been 
working  hard  through  all  those  long  years,  but  it  was 


JOAN  &  CO.  89 

child's  play  to  what  he  felt  himself  capable  of  now. 
If  he  had  felt  then  as  he  felt  now,  he  never  would 
have  gone  out  desperately  to  find  Sawyer  as  though 
that  were  the  end.  He  would  have  known  it  as 
another  beginning.  Every  day,  every  hour,  no 
matter  what  it  brought  forth,  would  be  a  begin- 
ning. It  is  not  possible  to  kill  a  reborn  man.  He 
is  immortal.  You  can't  starve  him  or  freeze  him. 
You  can't  even  run  him  down.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  he  was  here;  because  the  rebirth  was  fore- 
ordained. 

Her  words  had  brought  these  scattered  thoughts 
which  had  for  several  nights  illumined  his  mind, 
like  isolated  rays  of  light,  to  a  focus.  Instantane- 
ously. Yet  when  he  spoke  again  there  was  nothing 
in  his  words  to  hint  of  the  momentous  truth  they 
covered. 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  he  said. 

"Men  like  you  —  men  out  in  the  world  —  can 
always  do  that,"  she  ran  on. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"And  women  like  Mildred,"  she  continued.  "If 
she  had  lived,  she  would  have  gone  right  on,  be- 
ginning fresh  every  day." 

"And  you?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  To  answer  that  in- 
volved the  confession  of  rather  intimate  details  of 
her  life.  But  if  one  talks  of  lives  at  all  it  involves 
personalities.  And  that  was  what  she  was  inter- 


9o  JOAN  &  CO. 

ested  in.  It  was  just  this  side  of  him,  that  he  was 
a  live  human  being  living  a  quick  life,  that  ap- 
pealed to  her.  He  was  not  merely  some  one  like 
Dicky  Burnett,  tagged  and  catalogued,  circum- 
scribed by  his  surroundings,  and  acting  his  allotted 
part  in  a  play.  He  was  Devons.  He  was  a  man  with 
his  story  as  yet  unwritten. 

"And  you?"  he  repeated. 

"Every  day  is  so  much  like  every  other  day," 
she  answered  wearily.  "It  must  be  so  when  most 
of  the  things  worth  doing  have  already  been  done 
for  you  —  years  ago." 

"What  things?" 

"Oh  —  the  fighting  things!"  she  broke  out. 

He  smiled  at  that.  He  liked  her  spirit,  but  it  was 
the  spirit  of  an  imaginative  child  who  wants  to  go 
out  and  hunt  Indians.  But  it  whetted  the  desire  in 
him.  He,  too,  would  have  liked  a  few  Indians  to 
fight  —  for  her.  Those  men  of  the  early  days  who 
had  such  opportunities  were  to  be  envied.  There 
is  something  tangible  about  an  Indian,  and  when 
confronted  by  them  a  man  had  something  definite 
to  do.  His  task  consisted  simply  of  aiming  his  old 
blunderbuss  and  shooting,  or,  at  close  quarters, 
swinging  his  good  cutlass. 

"Grandfather  Fairburne  was  a  forty-niner," 
she  explained  proudly. 

"And  discovered  much  gold?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  He  became  a  banker." 


JOAN  &  CO.  91 

"Your  father  is  a  banker,  then?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "Dad  — he— he  is  only 
what  is  called  retired." 

She  looked  as  though  ashamed  of  the  admission. 

"That  is  the  trouble,"  she  went  on. 

"The  trouble  with  what?" 

"The  trouble  with  the  days,"  she  answered. 
"It's  why  one  day  is  just  like  another." 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  five.  It  struck 
five  times  very  firmly  and  loudly.  Nurse  Ware  rose 
and  thereby  announced  her  presence.  Dr.  Nichols 
had  given  orders  that  all  visitors  should  be  limited 
to  one  half-hour.  Considering  the  fact  that  Devons 
had  only  the  one  visitor,  could  not  possibly  have 
any  other  visitor,  the  regulation  appeared  to  be 
more  personal  than  is  generally  the  case. 

Devons  scowled  at  the  nurse. 

"Oh,  you're  there,  are  you?"  he  growled. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Devons.  It's  five  o'clock." 

"I  can  count,"  answered  Devons. 

Joan  rose  hurriedly.  She  knew  what  an  autocrat 
Nichols  was. 

"I'll  try  to  find  something  more  interesting  to 
read  to-morrow,"  she  promised. 

"Don't,"  he  warned.  "Besides,  I'm  going  to  get 
out  of  this  bed  before  long." 

"You  must  n't." 

"I  must.  I  want  to  get  to  work." 

"But  Dr.  Nichols  says  —  " 


92  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Hang  Dr.  Nichols!"  cut  in  Devons.  "He 
does  n't  know  what  I  have  to  do." 

Nurse  Ware  rustled  forward,  her  starched  skirts 
sounding  like  a  distant  gatling  gun.  • 

"Good-night,"  said  Joan. 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  HOME 

BURNETT  SENIOR,  one  evening  early  in 
February,  sat  in  his  library  after  dinner,  as 
was  his  custom,  and,  lighting  a  stogie,  adjusted 
himself  comfortably  in  his  big  leather  chair,  picked 
up  the  evening  paper,  and  turned  to  the  financial 
page.  His  wife  sat  just  beyond  him  on  the  other 
side  of  a  fireplace  filled  with  crackling  wood.  She 
was  a  quiet  body  with  graying  hair,  and  wore  a 
plain  gown  of  black  taffeta  which  emphasized  her 
age.  She  held  in  her  lap  the  latest  work  of  an  Eng- 
lish novelist.  In  a  week  she  had  not  succeeded  in 
getting  beyond  the  twelfth  chapter,  chiefly  be- 
cause she  had  held  it  in  her  lap  most  of  the  time 
that  she  thought  she  was  reading. 

For  the  last  twenty  years  she  had  joined  her 
husband  immediately  after  dinner,  and  sat  like 
this  while  he  read  the  financial  news.  And  most  of 
the  time  she  spent  this  hour  wondering  about 
Dicky;  first,  as  a  baby  sound  asleep  upstairs  in  his 
cradle;  then  as  a  youngster  in  his  trundle-bed, 
tired  out  after  his  day  of  romping;  then  as  a  school- 
boy; then  as  a  young  man  away  at  college;  and 
now  as  a  full-grown  man  at  home  once  again.  She 
had  looked  forward  for  four  years  to  the  time  when 


94  JOAN  &  CO. 

he  would  be  back  home,  as  she  knew  her  husband 
had;  and  yet,  now  that  he  was  back,  she  found 
herself  going  over  and  over  again  those  earlier 
years  rather  than  the  present.  For,  somehow,  he 
seemed  to  be  slipping  more  and  more  out  of  her 
life.  She  blamed  no  one  for  that,  Dicky  least  of  all, 
for  she  realized  that  his  interests  were  with  his  own 
generation.  She  realized  that  better  than  her  hus- 
band did.  The  latter  was  tempted  at  times  to  judge 
the  boy  harshly  and  this  worried  her  a  good  deal. 

Dicky,  she  knew,  was  in  many  ways  a  disap- 
pointment to  his  father  —  more  of  a  disappoint- 
ment than  the  boy  understood.  Dicky  failed  to 
appreciate  how  large  a  share  of  himself  his  father 
had  put  into  the  business  —  what  an  acutely  per- 
sonal matter  this  business  was  with  him.  The  boy 
did  not  have  the  background  she  had.  Her  memory 
took  her  to  the  beginnings  —  to  those  lean,  hard 
years  when  Dicky  was  sleeping  peacefully  in  his 
cradle  in  other  surroundings  than  these,  while  she 
watched  her  husband  at  work  over  figures  seem- 
ingly perverse.  Burnett  was  putting  in  some  six- 
teen hours  a  day  of  himself  then.  Even  after  the 
figures  began  to  be  more  amenable  to  discipline, 
there  were  sudden  reverses  that  made  him  pace 
the  floor  until  morning  and  kept  her  with  her 
heart  in  her  mouth.  It  all  came  out  right  in  the 
end,  of  course,  but  Burnett  had  left  something  of 
himself  behind  —  something  in  the  business.  All 


JOAN  &  CO.  95 

Dicky  had  ever  seen  was  the  triumphant  result. 
And  he  had  never  heard  his  father  talk,  as  she  had 
heard  him  talk,  of  how  he  looked  forward  to  the 
day  when  he  should  be  able  to  relinquish  the  reins 
to  "my  son"  and  watch  the  business  respond  to 
the  younger  life.  Perhaps  she  herself  had  been 
more  or  less  at  fault  for  not  having  repeated  these 
things  to  the  boy,  but  she  had  wanted  him  to  have 
his  youth  —  the  youth  of  which  Burnett  himself 
had  been  in  a  large  measure  deprived.  So  she  had 
said  nothing. 

Well,  Dicky  had  his  youth.  He  was  having  it 
now;  and  yet,  for  the  last  month  or  so  she  had 
felt  as  though  something  was  going  wrong  with  it. 
She  had  seen  him  getting  serious.  She  had  thought 
at  first  it  was  the  new  responsibilities  of  the  busi- 
ness. She  had  said  as  much  to  her  husband  one 
evening. 

"Dicky  is  taking  hold,  is  n't  he?" 

"Of  what?"  Burnett  snapped. 

"Of  the  business?" 

"If  he  wasn't  a  son  of  mine  I'd  fire  him  to- 
morrow. That's  how  much  he's  taking  hold,"  he 
replied. 

"He  —  he  will  some  day,  Richard,"  she  ven- 
tured to  declare  in  order  to  pacify  him. 

"That  is  n't  even  a  good  gamble,"  answered 
Burnett. 

Yet  it  was  a  fact  that  the  boy  was  getting  se- 


96  JOAN  &  CO. 

rious.  In  the  last  few  weeks  she  had  seen  him  ma- 
turing, though  she  had  little  opportunity  of  seeing 
him  at  all;  often  no  more  than  a  glimpse  of  him  as 
he  came  downstairs  dressed  to  go  out.  But  last 
night  he  had  stopped  and  kissed  her.  It  brought 
the  color  to  her  cheeks.  He  was  seldom  as  de- 
monstrative as  that. 

To-night  she  had  not  seen  him  at  all.  As  Burnett 
put  down  his  paper  to  relight  his  cigar,  she  asked : 

"Do  you  know  where  Dicky  is  going  this 
evening?" 

"Eh?" 

"I  have  n't  seen  him  go  out." 

"I  have  n't  seen  him  since  lunch.  He  would  n't  let 
me  have  anything  but  crackers  and  milk  to-day." 

Burnett  picked  up  his  paper  again,  and  then 
put  it  down. 

"Anything  strange  about  not  seeing  him?"  he 
demanded. 

"No.  Only— " 

"Well?" 

"I  thought  he  had  been  looking  kind  of  sober 
lately." 

"It's  a  girl,"  grunted  Burnett. 

"Not—" 

"Nothing  but  a  plain  fool  girl.  He  asked  her  to 
marry  him  and  she  refused.  That  proves  she's  a 
fool,  does  n't  it?" 

"You  know  her,  then?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  97 

"That's  all  I  know,  except  that  she's  a  Fair- 
burne  —  one  of  the  four  hundred  —  and  thinks 
she  is  too  good  for  him." 

"Why  —  why  did  n't  he  tell  me?" 

"There,  Mother,"  Burnett  returned,  with  a  note 
of  tenderness  one  might  not  have  suspected  was 
there,  "it's  only  because  he's  feeling  rather  bad 
about  it.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  he  is  willing  to 
admit  she  is  too  good  for  him.  That's  bad  business. 
You  can't  sell  goods  or  get  a  wife  in  any  such  spirit 
as  that.  If  he'd  had  a  little  training  on  the  road 
he'd  know  it." 

"You've  seen  her?" 

"No.  But,  according  to  him,  she's  a  sort  of 
princess." 

"I  think,  if  he  really  cares,  that's  the  way  he 
would  think  of  her,"  said  the  mother. 

" I  told  him— " 

But  at  that  point  Mrs.  Burnett  glanced  up  with 
a  quick  motion  of  her  hand  to  her  lips  in  warning. 
For  there  at  the  door  stood  Dicky  himself  in  eve- 
ning clothes,  slowly  removing  his  gloves. 

"You  look  so  comfortable  here,  I  think  I'll 
stay,"  he  announced. 

As  Dicky  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire,  Burnett  tossed 
aside  his  paper  and  his  wife  let  the  book  in  her  lap 
slide  to  the  floor.  To  them  both  the  situation  was 
unusual  enough  to  appear  ominous.  Burnett  bit 
into  his  stogie  and  waited. 


98  JOAN  &  CO. 

But,  after  all,  there  appeared  to  be  nothing  to 
wait  for.  Dicky  merely  lighted  a  cigarette,  crossed 
his  legs,  and  stared  into  the  flames  quite  as  un- 
concernedly as  though  this  were  an  everyday  habit 
of  his.  So  they  sat  a  few  moments  in  silence,  until 
Mrs.  Burnett  broke  the  tension  by  asking: 

"Is  it  cold  out  to-night,  Dicky?" 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Not  very." 

"Storming?"  put  in  Burnett. 

"Don't  think  so.  Was  n't  when  I  came  in  at 
five  o'clock." 

"Have  you  had  your  dinner?"  inquired  his 
mother. 

Dicky  smiled. 

"Now  that  you  mention  it,  I  have  n't,"  he 
answered. 

Mrs.  Burnett  rose. 

"You  should  have  told  me,"  she  said.  "I'll  see 
Mary  about  it  at  once." 

"Don't,  please,"  protested  Dicky.  "Just  sit 
where  you  were.  I  don't  want  a  bite  now — honest." 

"You  are  n't  going  on  one  of  those  confounded 
diets  yourself?"  demanded  Burnett. 

Dicky  shook  his  head. 
.  "No  need  of  it  yet.  What's  the  news?" 

"  Steel  is  off  again." 

Burnett  appeared  a  bit  sulky  about  it.  Dicky 
turned. 

"How  does  that  interest  you?"  he  asked. 


JOAN  &  CO.  99 

"Bought  a  block  of  it  the  other  day,"  replied 
Burnett  uncomfortably. 

"How  long  since  you've  been  fooling  with  the 
market?"  asked  Dicky. 

"I'm  not  fooling  with  it.  I  had  a  little  spare 
cash  and  took  a  chance,  that's  all." 

"On  whose  advice?" 

"Forsythe  has  a  friend,  and —  " 

"Forsythe?" 

"What  of  it?" 

"I  don't  like  the  fellow." 

"You  don't  know  him.  He's  been  my  right- 
hand  man  for  the  last  three  years." 

"What  about  his  friend?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  his  friend  except 
that  he's  on  the  inside." 

"I'd  let  him  stay  there,"  observed  Dicky. 

Burnett  senior  bristled  up  aggressively  —  the 
readier  because  away  down  deep  in  his  heart  he 
knew  the  advice  was  sound.  At  the  same  time  he 
resented  being  criticized  by  one  thirty  years  his 
junior  who  had  not  had  as  much  business  ex- 
perience as  the  average  newsboy.  It  was  one  thing 
for  Dicky  to  proffer  suggestions  on  matters  of 
diet,  about  which  presumably  he  did  have  some 
real  knowledge,  and  another  for  the  boy  to  venture 
with  the  same  assurance  into  the  field  of  finance. 
Burnett  was  taking  a  chance,  and  he  knew  it; 
but  he  did  not  relish  being  told  about  it.  That 


ioo  JOAN  &  CO. 

remark  about  Forsythe  hit  a  particularly  sore  spot. 
Forsythe  was  doing  exactly  the  work  that  Dicky 
ought  to  have  been  doing.  He  was  instilling  in  the 
firm  the  snap  that  comes  only  of  youth. 

Besides  all  this,  Burnett,  if  he  lost,  could  afford 
to  lose.  If  he  won  —  it  was  not  for  himself  that  he 
was  making  the  gamble.  He  had  enough  —  more 
than  enough.  He  had  put  fifty  thousand  dollars 
into  steel  for  the  sake  of  the  boy  who  now  had  the 
nerve  to  sit  there  and  take  him  to  task  about  it. 

"Look  here,"  returned  Burnett;  "just  when  and 
how  did  you  acquire  your  wide  experience  of  the 
stock  market?" 

"I  don't  know  a  darned  thing  about  it,"  replied 
Dicky  coolly.  "That's  why  I  know  so  much  about 
it:." 

"Eh?"  exclaimed  Burnett,  confused  by  such 
apparent  nonsense. 

"I  mean  just  that,"  went  on  Dicky.  "The 
people  who  get  stung  on  Wall  Street  are  those  who 
know  all  about  it,  or  trust  to  some  one  else  who 
knows  all  about  it.  If  you  were  going  it  alone,  dad, 
I'd  bet  on  you." 

"Bah!"  snorted  Burnett. 

"  I  suppose  you  '11  have  to  learn  your  lesson,"  con- 
cluded Dicky.  "After  all,  that's  what  keeps  things 
moving  down  there.  What  you  reading,  Mother?" 

"I  don't  know,"  confessed  Mrs.  Burnett.  "But 
it's  very  good.  It  was  recommended  to  me." 


JOAN  &  CO.  101 

With  the  conversation  launched  into  safer 
channels,  Dicky  spent  the  remainder  of  a  very 
restful  and  pleasant  evening  with  his  family,  and 
at  ten  o'clock  became  sleepy  with  them.  As  they 
rose  to  retire,  he  kissed  his  mother  good-night, 
patted  his  father  on  the  back,  and  went  off  up- 
stairs. But  he  had  no  more  than  removed  his  coat 
before  he  heard  a  timid  tap  at  his  door.  He  opened 
it,  and  found  his  mother  standing  there. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked. 

"I  —  I  wanted  to  talk  a  little  with  you,  Dicky," 
she  faltered. 

"Fine!"  he  exclaimed.  "Come  in." 

He  found  a  chair  for  her,  and,  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  waited  with  some  curiosity  to 
learn  what  had  brought  her  here.  She  explained  at 
once. 

"It's  because  I  thought  you  seemed  worried, 
Dicky,"  she  said. 

"Worried?" 

"Your  father  told  me  that  you  were  caring  for 
—  some  one.  You  did  n't  tell  me." 

"Oh  — it's  that!" 

And  instantly,  before  her  eyes,  she  saw  his  face 
grow  serious.  It  was  as  though  he  grew  five  years 
older  in  as  many  seconds. 

"Don't  you  want  to  tell  me,  Dicky?" 

He  rose,  walked  across  the  room  once,  and  sat 
down  again. 


102  JOAN  &  CO. 

"There  is  n't  very  much  to  tell,  Mother,"  he 
began  quietly.  "Her  name  is  Joan  Fairburne,  and 
she  lives  here  in  New  York.  You  know  of  the  family 
and  how  prominent  they  are  in  a  social  way.  But 
that  has  n't  anything  to  do  with  her.  I  met  her 
when  I  was  in  college,  and  I  Ve  seen  her  more  or 
less  ever  since;  but  it  was  n't  until  this  winter  that 
I  came  to  realize  what  she  is.  We  were  together 
a  good  deal  —  until  about  two  weeks  ago.  Then, 
because  I  cared  so  much,  I  asked  her  to  marry 
me.  And  she  said  she  did  not  care  enough  to  do 
that.  Since  then  I  have  n't  been  able  to  see  her 
much.  And  —  that's  about  all  there  is  to  it." 

"You  feel  very  badly  about  it?" 

He  looked  up  at  his  mother  —  then  away. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted. 

She  stole  swiftly  to  his  side  and  put  her  hand 
over  his. 

"I'm  — I'm  so  sorry." 

"The  deuce  of  it  is,"  he  exclaimed,  "there  is  n't 
anything  much  you  can  do  about  it." 

"I  don't  see  why  she  does  n't  love  you,  Dicky," 
said  his  mother. 

He  laughed  at  that. 

"If  you  knew  her  you'd  wonder  I  even  dared 
hope  she  might,"  he  ran  on.  "She  is  different.  I 
don't  think  she  was  meant  to  be  born  in  New  York. 
She  was  meant  to  be  born  in  the  Arabian  Nights, 
for  a  man  wearing  a  scarlet  silk  doublet  and  hose 


JOAN  &  CO.  103 

and  an  ostrich  feather  in  his  hat  and  oodles  of 
jewels  and  an  army  to  do  her  bidding." 

"Does  she  say  that's  what  she  wants?" 

"Bless  you,  no.  But  she  looks  it.  She  makes  you 
feel  that's  what  you'd  like  to  give  her.  And  you 
can't  give  her  anything  because  she  has  everything 
she  wants.  And  there  you  are. " 

"I'd  like  to  meet  her,  Dicky." 

"I'd  like  to  have  her  meet  you,"  he  replied 
enthusiastically.  "Somehow,  I  think  she'd  like 
you,  Mother." 

"Perhaps,  then,  I  could  ask  her  to  come  here  for 
tea  —  Thursday." 

"You're  a  brick.  She  has  n't  been  going  out  any 
lately,  but  if  you'll  send  the  note  I'll  see  what  I 
can  do  to  back  it  up." 

Mrs.  Burnett  rose  to  go. 

"Even  if  it  does  n't  turn  out  right,  Dicky —  " 
she  began  anxiously. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it,"  he  finished  for  her. 

He  placed  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"But  I  want  her.  You'll  understand  how  much 
when  you  see  her." 

Then  Dicky  gave  her  his  arm  and  escorted  her 
to  her  room. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SILENT  PARTNER 

AS  soon  as  Devons  was  out  of  bed  and  dressed 
and  able  to  walk  around  the  house,  Nichols 
found  it  quite  impracticable  to  enforce  hospital 
rules  of  any  sort.  Give  a  man  like  Devons  a  pair 
of  legs,  and  the  only  thing  to  do,  if  you  wish  to 
keep  him  within  certain  bounds,  is  to  put  him  in 
chains.  Nichols  had  neither  the  authority  nor  the 
chains. 

In  reply  to  Mrs.  Fairburne's  rather  pointed 
question  as  to  when  he  thought  it  possible  for  the 
patient  to  leave,  he  answered: 

"Possible?  To-day." 

"Then—" 

Dr.  Nichols  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Of  course  he  is  better  off  here  than  he  would  be 
wherever  he  lives.  As  I  understand  it,  he  would  not 
be  likely  to  receive  much  care  in  his  apartments, 
while  here  he  receives,  if  anything,  too  much." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fairburne.  "Joan 
seems  inclined  to  make  rather  a  hero  of  him." 

"It  is  a  characteristic  of  girls  of  her  age,"  sug- 
gested Nichols. 

"A  dangerous  characteristic,"  snapped  Mrs. 
Fairburne. 


JOAN  &  CO.  105 

"The  most  common  cure  is  to  allow  the  patient 
to  see  as  much  as  possible  of  her  hero,"  smiled  Dr. 
Nichols. 

At  any  rate,  there  appeared  to  be  no  alternative. 
And,  truth  to  tell,  neither  Mrs.  Fairburne  nor 
Fairburne  himself,  after  meeting  the  young  man 
on  several  occasions,  could  put  a  finger  on  any- 
thing objectionable  in  him.  Of  course  his  past  was 
decidedly  hazy  (one  had  only  his  word  for  it),  and 
he  came  absolutely  unvouched  for,  —  which  was 
more  or  less  natural,  considering  the  circum- 
stances under  which  he  arrived,  —  but  those  de- 
tails did  not  count  for  as  much  as  they  might  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  he  was  by  no  means  to  be 
considered  as  a  social  guest,  but  merely  a  sort  of 
accident.  In  time  he  would  depart,  and  that  would 
be  the  end  of  him.  In  the  meanwhile  it  was  a  com- 
forting thought  that  he  was  not  as  unpleasant  as 
he  might  have  been.  Considering  how  little  dis- 
crimination is  generally  exercised  in  running  over 
people,  he  might  have  been  an  extremely  un- 
pleasant character  to  have  about.  It  was  also 
necessary  to  take  into  account  the  obvious  truth 
that  he  served  to  amuse  Joan  at  a  time  when  it 
appeared  impossible  for  any  one  else  to  amuse  her. 

So  Devons  no  longer  had  to  wait  until  half-past 
four  arrived  to  stand  a  chance  of  seeing  Joan.  He 
sallied  forth  at  all  hours,  —  sometimes  as  early  as 
mid-forenoon,  —  and  wandered  around  downstairs 


106  JOAN  &  CO. 

until  he  found  her.  It  was  curious  how  often  he 
found  her.  Generally  it  was  in  the  library  off  the 
reception-room.  There  was  always  an  open  fire 
here,  and  if  he  sat  down  in  front  of  it  a  few  minutes 
she  would  often  appear.  She  was  always  just  as 
surprised  to  see  him  as  he  was  to  see  her.  He  was 
always  just  as  glad  to  see  her  as  the  day  before  — 
perhaps  even  a  little  gladder. 

This  would  have  been  a  natural  development 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  —  if  one  continued 
to  meet  her  over  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  afternoon,  — 
but  coming  upon  her  at  the  extraordinary  hour  of 
eleven  in  the  morning,  and  with  no  distraction 
even  as  simple  as  a  cup  of  tea,  the  result  was  to 
throw  them  back  upon  themselves  for  entertain- 
ment. This  led  to  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  them- 
selves—  just  themselves  as  they  were;  just  two 
human  beings  who  had  started  from  different 
corners  of  the  nation  and  traversed  different  paths 
which  had  finally  intersected.  The  time  of  day  had 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  A  woman  is  more  herself 
and  a  man  more  himself  and  less  a  social  creature 
before  noon.  There  are  men  and  women  who  never 
get  to  know  each  other  until  the  opportunity 
arrives  for  them  to  meet  after  breakfast.  Sometimes 
this  results  one  way;  sometimes  another. 
1  It  was  wonderful  to  Devons  that  any  one  should 
be  interested  in  his  affairs.  It  was  something  new 
to  have  a  confidante  —  some  one  who  really  liked 


JOAN  &  CO.  107 

to  hear  the  details  of  the  days  he  had  worked  out 
alone.  At  first  he  doubted  just  how  sincere  she 
was.  But  as  he  took  her  with  him  through  those 
plugging  years  at  Tech,  and  saw  her  leaning  for- 
ward with  quick  eyes  and  heightened  color,  he 
doubted  no  more.  So  he  reached,  one  morning, 
that  period  of  his  life  which  marked  the  beginning 
of  the  dream  that  did  not  come  true. 

He  had  approached  it  before,  but  always  he  had 
stopped  because  it  seemed  of  too  recent  a  date  and 
of  too  intimate  a  nature  for  even  her  ears.  To  tell 
her  about  it  was  in  a  way  to  involve  her  in  it 
because  it  extended  into  the  present.  The  past,  up 
to  that  point,  was  done  with.  So  it  could  be  related 
like  a  tale  that  has  been  told.  The  other  was  still  of 
his  life.  More  now  than  ever  before  because  he  was 
beginning  to  dream  anew  and  dream  more  steadily. 

Yet  at  length  he  found  himself  telling  her  even 
about  that  —  telling  her  quite  simply  and  un- 
consciously. 

She  had  asked  him  what  brought  him  to  New 
York  after  he  had  mentioned  the  fact  that  he 
had  come  knowing  only  one  person  —  Sawyer,  a 
classmate. 

"An  accident,"  he  answered.  "My  life  seems  to 
hinge  upon  accidents." 

"  I  hope  the  other  was  a  happier  one  than  this." 

"I  don't  know,"  he  mused.  "After  all,  an  acci- 
dent may  be  nothing  but  a  quick  and  unexpected 


io8  JOAN  &  CO. 

turn  toward  a  new  beginning.  It  all  depends  on 
how  it  comes  out." 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  laboratory  work  on  leather, 
and  of  the  different  ways  of  preparing  it  for  the  mar- 
ket and  finishing  it  for  shoes ;  and,  finally,  of  his  dis- 
covery of  the  process  that  was  to  make  his  fortune. 

"I  felt  at  the  time,"  he  said,  "a  good  deal  as  one 
of  the  lucky  forty-niners  must  have  felt.  I  was 
down  to  my  last  grubstake  and  had  stumbled 
upon  pay  dirt.  I  knew  the  value  of  what  I  had.  At 
least,  I  thought  I  knew,  so  that  the  effect  was  the 
same.  For  a  week  afterward  I  had  a  regular  orgy 
of  spending  imaginary  dollars.  You  see,  money 
meant  a  lot  to  me.  It  meant  being  able  to  do  a  lot 
of  things  I  wanted  to  do.  It  meant  not  having  to 
wait  another  ten  years  of  hard,  plugging  work. 
And  I  thought  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  come  here 
to  New  York  with  my  invention  and  show  it." 

He  paused. 

"Go  on,"  she  begged. 

"I  worked  all  summer  perfecting  it  and  getting 
it  patented.  I  had  to  write  to  father  for  money  in 
order  to  do  that,  and  he  mortgaged  his  farm  to 
get  the  cash  for  me.  I'd  have  starved  before 
I  'd  have  allowed  him  to  take  that  risk  if  I  had  n't 
been  sure.  Then  I  came  on.  First  Forsythe  turned 
me  down,  then  I  laid  it  before  Sawyer,  who  was 
with  an  investment  house.  He  was  just  as  enthusi- 
astic over  the  possibilities  as  I  was. 


JOAN  &  CO.  109 

"After  that  came  the  waiting  period.  The  firm 
had  to  test  the  process  and  look  up  the  patent 
papers  and  all  that.  I  did  n't  care  how  long  they 
were  about  it,  because  I  was  absolutely  sure  of 
the  result.  So  I  took  a  room  at  Mullen  Court,  and 
spent  my  days  studying  and  reading  and  waiting 
for  the  mails.  That  was  in  October,  and  I  waited 
all  through  that  month.  Then  I  waited  through 
November.  Then  I  waited  through  December. 
That  was  almost  a  whole  lifetime  in  itself.  Because 
—  well,  my  funds  were  running  pretty  low  by 
then." 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  —  her  own 
brimming  with  sympathy  and  pity. 

"Don't  think  I  minded,"  he  hastened  to  assure 
her.  "I  did  n't.  It  was  the  period  of  dreams." 

"But  —  you  didn't  have  enough  to  eat!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Not  any  too  much,"  he  smiled.  "Still,  I  kept 
alive,  and  after  all  that  was  the  important  thing. 
And  I  knew  that  whatever  I  did  not  have  then  was 
going  to  make  all  the  more  welcome  the  things  I 
was  sure  to  have  later.  Besides,  it  was  exciting. 
Just  to  hear  the  postman's  steps  every  time  he 
came  was  enough  to  make  a  man  breathe  quicker. 
It  was  all  a  sort  of  fight  —  to  hang  on." 

She  nodded  as  though  she  understood. 

"Then  came  the  end  of  it.  Sawyer's  firm  wrote 
that  they  could  not  handle  the  process  because  — 


no  JOAN  &  CO. 

they  were  afraid  of  the  old  process.  It  seems  that 
one  man  held  this  particular  market — a  man 
they  were  afraid  to  compete  with.  I'd  never  con- 
sidered any  such  development  as  that.  I  thought 
that  any  new  thing  which  was  better  than  the  old 
would  just  naturally  take  the  place  of  the  latter. 
I  had  n't  taken  into  account  the  business  side  of 
it.  But  the  firm  would  not  risk  its  capital,  and  I 
had  none  of  my  own  —  so  that  was  the  end." 

"The  end?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Almost.  I  had  a  vague  scheme  of  going  to  work 
on  a  salary.  Sawyer  had  offered  me  a  job  once,  and 
I  thought  that  in  time  I  might  save  enough  out  of 
it  to  start  in  a  small  way.  But  that  took  me  so  far 
into  the  future  that  the  prospect  was  hazy  — 
compared  with  what  I  had  been  dreaming.  I  was 
on  my  way  to  see  Sawyer  when  —  " 

"The  accident  happened,"  she  cut  in,  unwilling 
to  be  shielded  from  any  responsibility. 

"Considering  the  fact  it  has  meant  so  much  to 
me,  I  —  I  don't  like  to  speak  of  that  as  an  acci- 
dent," he  said. 

"But  you  have  paid  so  much  for  so  little,"  she 
protested. 

He  met  her  eyes  again. 

"It's  been  worth  the  cost  and  more,"  he 
answered. 

"Oh!" 

They  were  silent  a  few  moments,  but  Devons 


JOAN  &  CO.  in 

roused  himself.  He  felt  these  silences  to  be  dan- 
gerous. 

"I  did  n't  mean  to  go  into  all  those  sorry  de- 
tails," he  apologized. 

"But  I  asked  you  to,"  she  reminded  him.  "I 
wanted  to  hear.  It  makes  me  feel  as  though  I'd 
lived  a  little  of  that  myself." 

"You?" 

"I  used  to  feel  that  way  when  I  listened  to 
Mildred.  It's  something  to  live  a  little,  even  at 
second  hand." 

" But  surely—  " 

"Let's  not  talk  about  me,"  she  interrupted.  "I 
want  to  hear  more  about  what  you  're  going  to  do 
next." 

"I  must  see  Sawyer  next,"  he  said  simply.  "I 
must  go  on  from  where  I  left  off.  And  I  must  start 
soon  now.  I  'm  eager  to  get  back." 

"You  see!"  she  exclaimed. 

"See?" 

"Even  you  —  after  just  a  few  weeks  here  — 
find  it  stupid." 

His  lips  came  together.  He  had  allowed  her  to 
persuade  him  into  telling  of  the  old  dreams,  but 
he  must  be  very  careful  not  to  be  enticed  to  tell 
the  new.  Besides,  he  was  not  very  clear  about 
them  himself.  They  were  only  vague.  He  must  keep 
them  so,  even  though  when  he  sat  near  her  like 
this  they  tended  to  become  concrete.  That,  how- 


ii2  JOAN  &  CO. 

ever,  was  against  his  will.  He  was  not  here  as  her 
social  equal.  Even  Mrs.  Fairburne  herself  could 
not  have  seen  that  more  clearly  than  he.  But  what 
Mrs.  Fairburne  could  not  have  seen  was  the  possi- 
bility he  saw  that  in  time  these  conditions  might 
be  changed.  Give  him  a  few  years  as  he  felt  at 
moments  like  this  and  there  need  be  no  gulf  be- 
tween them.  He  rose  from  his  easy-chair  before 
the  fire. 

"I  ought  to  be  back  at  work  now!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  must  write  to  Sawyer  to-day." 

Only  his  right  hand  was  still  bandaged  to  his 
side,  and  he  could  not  so  much  as  sign  his  name 
with  his  left. 

"You  '11  let  me  write  for  you  ? "  she  asked  quickly. 

He  did  not  like  to  call  upon  her  for  even  as 
slight  a  service  as  this,  but  without  giving  him 
time  to  reply,  she  stepped  to  a  little  writing-desk 
in  the  corner,  picked  up  a  pen,  and  held  it  poised 
above  the  paper. 

"I'm  ready,"  she  smiled. 

It  was  not  easy  for  him  to  dictate,  because  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  it,  and  because  every  time 
he  paused  for  the  right  word  she  met  his  eyes  — 
and  then  he  thought  of  nothing  else  for  a  dizzy 
second  but  those  eyes.  If,  in  trying  to  escape  these, 
he  turned  his  gaze  to  the  letter  itself,  he  saw  only 
her  white  hand.  It  was  soft  and  tender;  he  could 


JOAN  &  CO.  113 

think  of  nothing  else  then  but  that.  When  he 
turned  away  from  her  altogether  and  stared  out 
of  the  window,  her  presence  so  filled  the  room  that 
he  thought  of  nothing  but  that.  So  it  was  rather  a 
wobbly  letter.  In  it  he  said  scarcely  more  than  that 
he  had  been  delayed  from  coming  up  to  see  him, 
but  hoped  within  a  week  to  make  it,  and  that  if  in 
the  meanwhile  he  saw  any  opening  for  him,  he 
hoped  he  would  write  in  care  of  — 

He  paused,  because  he  did  not  know  his  present 
address.  Joan  filled  it  in  for  him  herself  and  in  a 
very  businesslike  way  read  over  the  letter.  Then  he 
told  her  how  to  address  the  envelope,  and  she  did 
that  and  put  on  a  stamp. 

"It's  a  chance,  anyhow,"  he  concluded. 

"For  what?"  she  asked  directly. 

"To  earn  a  living,  at  least." 

"But  what  of  your  invention?"  she  exclaimed. 

"That  must  wait." 

"Again?" 

"For  some  later  date,"  he  smiled. 

"Until  you  can  save  enough  —  " 

"Or  until  Reed  cares  to  furnish  the  capital," 
he  interrupted. 

He  did  not  like  to  discuss  this  with  her.  He 
wanted  to  sweep  it  all  aside  now  and  talk  of  other 
things.  With  that  letter  written,  his  stay  here 
seemed  for  the  first  time  to  be  coming  to  a  definite 
end.  He  realized  it  with  a  shock. 


n4  JOAN  &  CO. 

"If  you  could  have  that  mailed,  I  —  I  could 
forget  it  for  a  little,"  he  said. 

But  her  thoughts  were  centered  on  something 
else  —  something  that  quite  took  away  her  breath. 

"Capital?"  she  repeated  slowly.  "That's  — 
just  money?" 

"That's  all,"  he  answered. 

"Then  if  you  had  money  —  your  invention 
would  not  have  to  wait?" 

"I'd  start  manufacturing  myself,"  he  explained 
simply. 

"You  need  a  great  deal?" 

"Not  very  much  to  begin  in  a  small  way.  In  a 
year  or  two  I  might  save  enough  —  " 

"But  if  you  had  the  money  now  you  could  begin 
now!" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed  impulsively,  "if  you'd 
only  let  me  help!" 

She  paused  abruptly  —  her  cheeks  scarlet.  Then, 
before  he  had  time  to  catch  his  breath,  she  ran  on: 

"If  you'd  only  let  me  get  the  money  for  you. 
I'm  sure  I  could,  and  it  could  be  a  loan." 

She  saw  his  jaws  come  together.  She  was  afraid 
of  that. 

"Or  it  could  be  just —  a  business  arrangement. 
Is  n't  there  something  called  a  —  a  silent  partner? " 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  was  standing  before 
him  now. 


JOAN  &  CO.  115 

He  saw  nothing  but  her  eyes  again,  and  that 
made  it  difficult  for  him  to  think. 

Yet  it  was  necessary,  as  never  before  in  his  life, 
for  Devons  to  think  clearly.  The  girl  before  him 
had  made  her  offer  in  all  sincerity.  To  dismiss  it 
with  a  smile,  as  one  does  the  impulsive  suggestion 
of  a  child,  though  it  partook  of  that  nature,  was 
impossible.  It  would  hurt  her.  But  he  had  only  to 
repeat  to  himself  the  proposal  to  realize  its  essen- 
tial absurdity.  She  was  to  raise  for  him  the  capital 
to  start  his  business  and  act  as  his  silent  partner. 
She,  who  knew  nothing  whatever  about  business, 
was  to  assume  the  risk  refused  by  experienced 
business  men.  Considered  in  cold  blood,  the  propo- 
sition answered  itself. 

But  here  was  the  difficulty:  it  had  not  been  made 
in  that  spirit,  and  could  not  be  handled  in  that 
spirit.  In  cold  blood?  Good  Lord,  no  one  but  a 
dead  man  could  face  Joan  Fairburne  so,  as  she 
stood  within  arm's  reach,  her  face  flushed  with  the 
excitement  of  the  moment,  every  sense  alert. 

"You  are  wonderful!"  exclaimed  Devons. 

"No!  No!"  she  protested,  with  a  slight  frown. 
"  It  is  n't  —  that.  If  anything,  I  'm  selfish  about  it. 
Don't  you  see  —  it  will  give  me  a  chance  to  do 
something." 

"You?" 

"It  will  give  me  an  interest  outside.  My  share 
in  it  would  be  small.  Money  is  such  a  little  thing. 


n6  JOAN  &  CO. 

All  the  work  —  all  the  fighting  to  make  the  busi- 
ness a  success  —  that  would  be  yours.  But  it 
would  be  something  to  know  I  'd  helped  that  much. 
It  would  be  something  to  be  able  to  look  on  with  a 
personal  interest  in  the  outcome." 

"But  if  it  failed?"  said  Devons. 

"Failed?"  she  asked  in  astonishment. 

And  Devons  felt  ashamed  of  himself  for  the 
suggestion.  It  was  as  though  Reed  had  spoken 
through  him.  Worse.  He  doubted  if  even  Reed 
could  have  conceived  such  a  possibility  standing 
in  his  place.  With  her  as  a  partner,  a  man  could 
not  fail:  and  Devons  knew  it.  It  was  not  merely 
money  she  would  put  into  the  firm.  In  one  of  those 
fantastic  pictures  that  flash  before  one  at  moments 
of  high  tension  he  saw  a  prospectus:  "The  Devons 
Manufacturing  Company;  capital,  Joan  Fairburne, 
fully  paid  in  and  non-assessable."  That  was  worth  a 
million  dollars  and  more.  Even  now,  at  this  moment, 
he  felt  his  strength  multiplied  a  thousand  times. 

"No;  I  would  not  fail!"  he  answered  sharply. 

"Then  it's  all  settled?"  she  said  in  relief. 

"Only  as  dreams  are  settled,"  he  answered, 
getting  a  grip  on  himself.  "  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
understand  —  without  hurting  you.  You  don't 
know  how  much  just  the  offer  from  you  means  to 
me.  I  can  go  back  now  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of 
having  a  partner  —  even  without  having  one." 

He  saw  her  wince. 


JOAN  &  CO.  117 

"Joan,"  he  broke  out,  —  using  the  name  un- 
consciously, —  "Joan,  all  I  can  say  over  and  over 
again  is  that  you're  wonderful.  Even  if  you  don't 
understand.  But  a  man  could  n't  do  such  a  thing 
as  you  suggest.  He'd  be  a  cad  and  worse.  I'm  here 
only  by  sufferance.  You  spoke  once  of  the  cost. 
It's  been  worth  that  many  times  over  just  to  know 
you.  I  must  tell  you  that  much.  I  '11  go  back  now 
able  to  do  five  years'  work  in  one.  If  you'll  just 
keep  on  being  —  the  sort  of  partner  you  are  now, 
that  will  be  enough.  Don't  you  understand  —  a 
little?" 

"I  want  to  help,"  she  said  simply.  "I  want 
something  to  do." 

"  If  you  only  knew  —  " 

Devons  cut  himself  short.  He  must  be  careful. 
His  thoughts  were  running  wild.  He  saw  clearly 
now  the  face  of  the  woman  of  his  dreams;  it  was 
she;  it  was  Joan;  it  was  this  girl  who  wanted  to  be 
his  silent  partner.  And  the  reason  she  could  not 
be  that  was  because  he  wanted  more  of  her  than 
that  —  many,  many  times  more. 

He  made  for  the  door.  He  dared  not  stay  longer 
with  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

JOAN  &  CO. 

LEFT  alone,  Joan  tried  to  review  calmly  the 
situation  which  had  developed  so  unex- 
pectedly and  dramatically.  She  had  acted  quite 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Indeed,  looking  back 
upon  it  she  realized  that  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  have  done  what  she  did  in  any  other 
way.  Yet  now  that  she  had  time  to  think  it  over, 
she  regretted  nothing.  She  had  done  a  bold  thing 
and  she  was  proud  of  having  done  it.  It  left  her 
with  a  sense  of  freedom.  For  once  she  had  acted  on 
her  own  initiative. 

Neither,  in  spite  of  his  attitude,  was  she  dis- 
couraged. Of  course  he  would  look  at  it  at  first  just 
as  he  had  looked  at  it.  That  was  due  partly  to  the 
Western  pride  of  which  he  rather  boasted  —  the 
pride  that  made  his  father  prefer  to  starve  than 
accept  a  favor  —  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  he 
could  not  appreciate  her  position.  He  considered 
her  only  as  an  irresponsible  young  lady  acting, 
perhaps,  in  a  moment  of  sentiment.  That  was 
natural  enough,  even  though  it  was  disappointing. 
She  had  thought  the  last  few  weeks  would  have 
counted  for  more  than  that. 

Still  she  placed  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in  his 


JOAN  &  CO.  119 

gray  eyes.  Though  his  lips  had  stiffened,  she  had 
seen  the  eyes  respond.  She  had  seen  them  quicken 
at  her  suggestion  in  a  way  that  startled  her.  Even 
as  he  left  the  room  so  abruptly  she  had  seen  them 
alive  —  as  alive  as  the  glint  of  sunlight  on  steel. 
It  was  as  though  they  told  the  truth  against  his 
will;  as  though  they  were  willing  to  accept  her 
offer,  though  the  lips  refused.  And  the  eyes  were 
the  soul,  while  the  lips  were  merely  the  man. 

They  had  brought  the  color  to  her  face  —  those 
eyes.  She  had  felt  her  cheeks  burn.  She  could  not 
quite  explain  that.  Doubtless  it  was  merely  the 
excitement  of  the  moment.  It  was  a  big  thing  she 
was  reaching  for  —  nothing  less  than  a  chance  to 
get  out  of  her  prison.  Leaning  forward  toward  the 
flames,  elbow  on  knee  and  chin  in  hand,  she  allowed 
her  thoughts  to  take  their  own  course  for  a  moment. 
She  saw  the  business  started  in  some  little  factory 
tucked  away  in  a  far  corner  of  the  city.  She  was 
rather  vague  as  to  what  the  business  was.  That 
did  not  matter.  All  business  was  vague.  She  saw 
Devons  at  work  there  with  his  fine  enthusiasm, 
and  saw  the  little  factory  grow  into  a  bigger  one, 
and  then  into  a  still  bigger.  But  principally  she 
saw  the  man  back  of  it,  and  felt  the  satisfaction 
of  having  herself  a  hand  in  his  success.  Perhaps  it 
might  even  be  possible  for  her  to  help  in  some 
practical  way.  She  might  be  able  to  write  letters 
for  him.  If  she  could  do  that  — 


120  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Good-morning,  Joan." 

It  was  her  mother  who  interrupted  the  pleasant 
reverie.  She  came  in  and  took  the  chair  in  which 
Devons  had  lately  been  sitting. 

"You  are  about  early,  my  dear,  are  you  not?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Fairburne. 

"Am  I  ? "  Joan  answered  uncomfortably. 

"It  is  only  a  little  after  eleven.  However,  I'm 
glad  you  are  feeling  so  much  stronger.  And  this  — 
Mr.  Devons  —  is  he  not  almost  himself  again?" 

Mrs.  Fairburne  arched  her  brows  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes,  Mother."/ 

"Then?" 

"He  is  going,  soon,"  replied  Joan.  "I  —  I  wish 
you  had  come  to  know  him  better." 

"I!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fairburne. 

"He  has  had  such  a  hard  time  of  it  all  his  life. 
And  now  —  " 

Joan  hesitated  as  she  saw  her  mother's  face  grow 
blank.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that  she  could  have 
gone  on  quite  naturally.  She  had  grasped  at  this 
opportunity  to  tell  her  the  whole  story.  It  was  still 
necessary  because  it  was  through  her  she  must 
appeal  to  her  father  for  funds,  but  the  difference 
was  that  she  must  do  it  awkwardly  and  self-con- 
sciously now. 

"He  —  he  has  always  been  handicapped  because 
he  had  no  money,"  explained  Joan. 

"Really?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  121 

It  was  surprising  what  effects  Mrs.  Fairburne 
managed  to  produce  by  the  simple  use  of  mono- 
syllabic interrogations.  Just  at  present  it  placed  her 
on  some  distant  pinnacle  almost  out  of  ear-shot. 

"You  see  I  knew  his  cousin  Mildred  in  college. 
I  learned  through  her  what  —  it  means  to  be  like 
that.  He  has  an  invention  —  " 

"He?" 

"Mr.  Devons,"  explained  Joan  uneasily.  "It 
has  something  to  do  with  leather,  and  just  be- 
cause he  has  n't  any  capital  he  can't  use  it." 

The  girl  paused  a  moment  and  looked  to  her 
mother's  eyes.  Mrs.  Fairburne  merely  waited.  Yet 
in  spite  of  lack  of  encouragement  Joan  tried  to 
break  through  —  tried  because  she  felt  so  sincerely 
what  she  wished  to  say. 

"So  I  told  him  I  thought  I  could  do  something," 
she  ran  on,  quite  out  of  breath.  "I  told  him  I'd 
get  some  money  for  him.  Mother  —  can't  you  help 
me?" 

"You  offered  to  supply  him  with  funds?"  gasped 
Mrs.  Fairburne. 

"So  that  he  could  get  started." 
{   "And  he  accepted  your  offer?" 

"No.  He  has  n't  accepted  it.  He  said  he  could  n't 
accept  it." 

"That  much  is  in  his  favor,"  observed  Mrs. 
Fairburne  coldly. 

"But  if  we  made  it  easier  for  him  —  " 


iii  JOAN  &  CO. 

"My  dear,"  cut  in  Mrs.  Fairburne,  "the  whole 
idea  is  absurd.  I  trust  you  will  not  go  to  your 
father  with  it.  Let  us  keep  it  a  secret  between 
ourselves." 

"That  means  you'll  not  help?" 

"Joan!  You  disturb  me.  Really  you  must  put 
the  whole  matter  out  of  your  head  at  once." 

"Then  you  think  it  would  do  no  good  to  see 
father?" 

"I  am  quite  sure  it  would  only  shock  him.  He 
was  quite  against  having  this  Mr.  Devons  in  the 
house  from  the  first.  It  was  only  upon  the  medical 
advice  of  Dr.  Nichols  that  he  consented  at  all. 
Now  if  he  should  learn  —  but,  Joan,  surely  you  are 
not  considering  such  a  thing?" 

Joan  rose.  She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  right;  he  would  n't  under- 
stand." 

"This  affair  has  tired  you,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Fairburne.  "I'm  not  at  all  surprised.  You'd  better 
go  to  your  room  and  lie  down  a  little.  And  I  feel 
that  the  sooner  Mr.  Devons  is  able  to  leave  —  " 

Joan  smiled. 

"You  need  n't  worry  about  his  staying  any 
longer  than  is  necessary,"  she  observed.  "I'm 
sure  he  finds  us  all  very  stupid." 

With  that  Joan  retired  to  her  room,  but  not  to 
lie  down.  She  had  not  spoken  in  anger.  She  meant, 
however,  exactly  what  she  said.  To  a  man  like 


JOAN  &  CO.  123 

Devons  how  other  could  her  world  appear  but  a 
stupid  little  world  filled  with  stupid  people?  He 
had  been  here  a  month  now  with  an  opportunity 
to  study  her  and  her  parents  in  the  intimate  setting 
of  their  daily  lives.  He  had  watched  them  at  the 
petty  routine  of  their  complacent  and  guarded 
round  of  dining  and  card-playing,  the  opera  or  the 
theater.  He  had  seen  the  uneventful  days  follow 
the  uneventful  hours  with  the  assurance  that  this 
would  continue  indefinitely.  In  the  meanwhile  the 
great  live  city  all  about  them,  the  city  where  men 
and  women  grew  through  struggle,  scarcely  reached 
their  consciousness.  Even  when  they  glanced  over 
their  morning  and  evening  papers,  they  read  as  at 
a  play.  If  by  any  chance  the  city  was  brought 
closer  to  them  —  as  in  the  presence  of  Devons  — 
they  resented  it  as  an  intrusion. 

It  was  in  this  life  they  wished  to  fix  her.  They 
meant  for  the  best.  She  knew  that.  For  them  it 
spelled  safety.  But  they  did  not  take  into  account 
her  great  need  —  the  need  born  of  Youth  —  which 
is  not  for  the  safe  things,  but  the  venturesome 
things.  It  is  only  because  of  Youth  that  the  world 
dares  go  on.  It  is  in  Youth  that  men  go  to  sea  in 
boats;  that  men  go  to  war;  that  men  search  the 
far  places.  And  some  part  in  this  is  given  to 
women  —  if  only  the  waiting  part. 

Looking  from  her  window,  Joan  felt  the  call  — 
the  call  of  the  bold  and  the  blessed  unwise.  It 


i24  JOAN  &  CO. 

flushed  her  cheeks  and  stiffened  her  muscles  and 
bred  strange  thoughts  in  her.  Once  again  she  was 
back  in  the  midst  of  life  with  Devons,  helping  him 
in  the  clash  with  reality.  It  gave  new  meaning  to 
the  little  side  street  in  front  of  her  which  led  to  the 
broad  avenue,  which  in  turn  led  to  all  the  thousand 
and  other  streets  —  big  and  little  —  which  make 
New  York.  Though  for  the  moment  it  seemed  as 
though  she  had  been  balked  utterly  in  her  desires, 
she  felt  a  sense  of  fresh  courage.  She  had  made  her 
proposal  to  her  mother  quite  without  result  and 
knew  that  under  those  circumstances  it  was  futile 
to  go  to  her  father.  That  left  her  no  one  to  whom 
to  turn  —  but  Dicky. 

No  one  but  Dicky!  She  caught  her  breath  at  the 
inspired  suggestion.  After  all,  Dicky  was  some  one. 
In  his  way  he  was  very  much  some  one.  Whenever 
she  wished  to  think  of  him  at  his  best,  as  she  did 
now,  she  went  back  to  that  picture  of  him  standing 
by  her  machine  on  that  eventful  afternoon  when 
she  left  Delmonico's.  He  had  bared  his  head  and 
said  simply: 

"Pd  rather  you  felt  you  had  some  one  —  always 
ready  —  to  call  on." 

Though  she  was  never  sure  in  some  things  that 
Dicky  meant  what  he  said,  she  had  believed  with 
her  whole  heart  that  he  meant  this.  As  she  drove 
off  and  left  him  there,  she  was  very  glad  he  had 
spoken  so,  though  it  seemed  scarcely  probable 


JOAN  &  CO.  125 

then  that  ever  it  would  be  necessary  for  her  to  call 
upon  him.  She  had  even  wished  that  it  might 
be  necessary  because  she  thought  it  might  please 
him,  and  she  had  desired  then  as  never  before  to 
please  him  in  some  way. 

Now  here  was  her  opportunity,  and  his  oppor- 
tunity, and  Devons's  opportunity.  She  knew  little 
about  Dicky's  business  except  that  he  had  an 
office  downtown  with  his  father,  whom  she  had 
heard  spoken  of  vaguely  as  a  manufacturer.  She 
knew  little  because  it  concerned  Dicky  little  and 
her  less.  She  could  not  have  named  the  source  of 
income  of  a  half-dozen  of  her  many  friends.  Some 
of  them  went  downtown  in  the  morning  and  some 
of  them  did  not.  It  would  have  been  difficult  for 
her  to  separate  them  into  even  this  broad  division. 
It  was  assumed  they  all  had  ample  means,  and  she 
gave  no  further  thought  than  that  to  their  affairs. 

It  was  assumed  Dicky  had  ample  means.  That 
meant  he  had  sufficient  to  do  whatever  he  wished. 
So  that  to  ask  him  for  that  mysterious  symbol  of 
money  termed  "capital"  was  not  to  ask  him  for 
anything  very  much.  It  involved  no  great  sacrifice 
on  his  part  and  it  need  be  nothing  but  in  the  nature 
of  a  loan. 

She  lunched  in  her  room  that  day  because  she 
wished  to  avoid  seeing  Devons  again  until  she  had 
something  definite  to  tell  him.  Then  she  dressed 
with  a  little  more  care  than  usual  because  she  knew 


ia6  JOAN  &  CO. 

Dicky  had  a  weakness  for  such  things,  and  if  she 
was  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  him  it  was  no  more  than 
right  that  she  should  do  in  her  turn  what  she  could 
to  please  him.  So  she  allowed  Henriette  to  do  as 
she  pleased,  and  whenever  Henriette  was  given 
that  privilege  she  produced  extremely  charming 
results.  This  afternoon  she  chose  a  crepe-de-chine 
of  African  brown  that  had  touches  of  orange  in  the 
waist  and  girdle.  The  skirt  of  a  panier  effect  went 
no  lower  than  the  top  of  Joan's  trim  ankles,  afford- 
ing a  piquant  contrast  of  grandmother's  time  and 
to-day. 

Dicky  came  at  three-thirty,  and  the  moment  he 
laid  eyes  on  her  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  her 
attitude,  which  to  him  was  most  encouraging.  It 
was  as  though  she  were  really  glad  to  see  him  again. 
When  she  offered  her  hand,  it  was  not  merely  a 
social  convention,  but  as  a  friend  might  offer  her 
hand.  He  took  into  account,  too,  the  fact  that  she 
was  dressed  as  though  ready  to  go  out  once  more. 
It  gave  him  the  courage  to  present  without  delay 
his  mother's  invitation. 

"Have  you  any  engagement  for  Thursday  after- 
noon?" he  asked  as  soon  as  they  were  seated. 

"No,"  she  answered  hesitatingly.  "I  have  not 
been  making  any  engagements  at  all." 

"This  is  a  very  particular  one,"  he  assured  her. 
"It  is  from  mother  to  come  to  tea  at  the  house." 

"Your  mother?  It  is  sweet  of  her  to  ask  me," 


JOAN  &  CO.  127 

she  replied.  It  brought  home  to  her,  as  a  rather 
curious  truth,  the  fact  that  she  had  never  happened 
to  meet  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Burnett.  But  in  the 
younger  set  one  did  not  often  meet  the  elders 
unless  they  entertained.  And  unless  they  had 
daughters,  they  did  not  entertain  much. 

"You  will  come?"  he  asked  earnestly. 

"Why,  yes,  Dicky,"  she  agreed,  as  though 
searching  for  a  meaning. 

"I  told  her  a  little  something  about  you,"  he 
explained.  a 

"There  is  so  very  little  to  tell  about  me,"  she 
laughed  uneasily. 

"There's  a  great  deal,"  he  contradicted.  "More 
than  a  man  could  tell  in  a  book." 

"On  Thursday,  then,"  she  concluded  as  though 
to  check  further  parley  along  this  line. 

But  he  could  not  at  that  moment  be  checked  so 
abruptly. 

"  I  told  her  how  beautiful  you  were  and  —  that 
you  would  not  marry  me." 

"You  told  her  that?"  she  gasped. 

Dicky  nodded. 

"She  came  to  my  room  and  asked." 

"I  —  I  suppose  she  thinks  me  horrid,  then." 

"No,"  he  smiled.  "Only  she  does  not  under- 
stand it.  That 's  why  I  want  her  to  meet  you  —  so 
she  will  understand." 

"Dicky! "  she  exclaimed  with  a  choke  in  her  voice. 


128  JOAN  &  CO. 

"  As  soon  as  she  knows  you,  she  will  realize  how 
much  too  good  you  are  for  me,"  he  went  on 
seriously. 

"It  is  n't  so!" 

"You  will  see.  She  is  very  wise  in  her  quiet  way 
—  that  mother  of  mine.  You  will  like  her." 

"I'm  sure  I  shall  like  her,"  she  replied. 

Then  for  a  few  minutes  the  conversation  turned 
to  other  things  —  to  trivial  things  as  he  tried  to 
be  entertaining.  As  she  listened  and  smiled,  she 
kept  wondering  if  after  all  it  was  going  to  be  pos- 
sible for  her  to  ask  of  him  what  she  had  planned  to 
ask.  At  one  moment  it  did,  and  at  the  next  it  did 
not.  Though  she  did  not  know  it,  this  abstraction 
was  reflected  in  her  eyes,  and  he,  keenly  alert  to 
every  passing  change  in  her,  noted  this.  So  in  the 
end  it  was  he  who  put  the  question  to  her.  He 
paused  abruptly  in  his  light  talk  and  asked: 

"What  are  you  worrying  about,  Joan?" 

She  started.  This  was  her  opportunity,  and  yet 
she  shied  away  from  it. 

"I'm  not  worrying,  Dicky,"  she  answered. 

"But  there's  something  on  your  mind." 

"Yes,"  she  admitted. 

"Something  you  don't  want  to  tell  me  about?" 

"  Something  I  do  want  to  tell  you  about,"  she 
returned. 

"Then—" 

"It's  something  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do." 


JOAN  &  CO.  129 

"Fine!  "he  exclaimed. 

"Only  I  don't  know  how  to  ask." 

"The  way  to  ask  is  to  ask,"  he  suggested. 

"But  I'm  afraid  —  oh,  Dicky,  if  you  think  it 
queer  of  me,  or  if  you  don't  want  to  do  it,  you  '11 
be  frank?" 

She  leaned  forward  impulsively  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her. 

"I  can't  conceive  myself  as  not  doing  anything 
you  may  ask,"  he  replied. 

"No  matter  how  unusual  it  is?" 

"No  matter  what  it  is." 

"You'll  promise  to  use  your  own  judgment  and 
not  do  it  —  just  because  of  me?" 

"I'll  promise  beforehand  to  do  it." 

"Then,  Dicky,"  she  said,  blurting  it  out  at  once, 
because  the  longer  she  talked  about  it  the  less 
courage  she  had,  —  "Then,  Dicky,  I  —  I  want  you 
to  loan  me  some  money." 

It  took  away  his  breath  for  a  moment. 

"Money!"  he  gasped. 

It  was  as  absurd  a  request  on  the  face  of  it  as 
though  she  asked  for  bread. 

"And,"  she  went  on,  "it's  something  mother 
does  n't  approve  of." 

Dicky  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"At  least  that  sounds  interesting,"  he  admitted. 

"It's  business,"  she  explained  hastily.  "I'm 
going  to  be  a  sort  of  silent  partner." 


i3o  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Business?"  he  asked  suspiciously. 

He  thought  of  the  market.  He  had  heard  of 
women  who  played  stocks  on  a  margin  —  the  easy 
victims  of  unscrupulous  operators.  It  was  not  like 
Joan  to  do  a  thing  of  that  nature. 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  Maybe  five  thousand;  maybe 
more,"  she  hurried  on. 

"Right,"  he  nodded.  "When'do  you  want  it?" 

"Perhaps  within  a  week." 

He  nodded  again. 

"I'll  get  it  for  you." 

"Of  course  it's  only  a  loan,"  she  said. 

And  here  Dicky  thought  a  moment.  He  did  not 
want  to  make  it  a  loan.  If  she  borrowed  the  money 
and  lost  it  —  as  at  the  moment  it  seemed  to  him 
more  than  probable  she  would  —  he  did  not  choose 
to  have  her  left  with  the  worry.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  saw  no  practical  way  of  giving  it  to  her.  This 
brought  him  to  the  question  of  just  what  her  object 
was,  anyway,  in  wanting  to  try  to  make  money.  Still 
he  did  not  like  to  ask  her.  It  was  a  delicate  matter. 

"Look  here,"  he  exclaimed,  "why  don't  you  let 
me  in  on  the  deal?" 

"You?" 

"I  don't  want  to  know  the  details,"  he  assured 
her.  "I'd  rather  not  know  them.  You  can  act  as 
the  promoter  and  I  '11  furnish  the  capital.  Then  we 
can  go  divvies  on  the  profits." 


JOAN  &  CO.  131 

"You  mean  that,  Dicky  Burnett?" 

"Certainly.  I'll  be  just  another  silent  partner." 

"And  you  don't  even  want  to  know  what  I'm 
going  to  do  with  the  money?"  she  asked,  with 
warming  eyes. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Then  I  won't  be  tempted 
to  give  you  good  advice." 

"Dicky,"  she  exclaimed,  "you're  —  you're  a 
peach!" 

Different  people  place,  of  course,  different  values 
upon  money.  But  as  far  as  Dicky  was  concerned, 
he  received  right  then  and  there  adequate  return 
on  his  prospective  investment.  It  may  have  been 
an  expensive  luxury  and  one  he  could  not  afford 
every  day,  but  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  in- 
trinsic values.  It  was  worth  the  money  just  to  see 
the  honest  admiration  in  her  eyes  —  to  grasp  the 
hot  hand  she  impulsively  extended  to  him. 

"You're  so  good,  Dicky,"  she  added.  "You 
kind  of  make  me  ache." 

"It's  a  bargain,  then?"  he  asked,  with  his  head 
swimming  before  her. 

"A  bargain,"  she  agreed. 

"Joan  &  Co.,"  he  repeated  to  himself .  "Sounds 
kind  of  nice,,  does  n't  it?" 

"It  ought  to  be  Dicky  &  Co." 

"No,  because  it's  your  proposition.  I  have  a 
notion  it's  rather  going  to  please  Dad  to  learn  I've 
gone  into  business  for  myself." 


i32  JOAN  &  CO. 

"He  must  know?" 

"In  some  ways  it's  rather  essential,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "But  he  needn't  know  any  more  than 
that.  You  —  you  don't  need  a  bookkeeper  or  any- 
thing, do  you?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "There  are  n't  any  books 
yet." 

"You  might  keep  me  in  mind  for  the  position," 
he  suggested. 

"I'd  be  glad  if  there  was  something  of  the  sort 
for  me  to  do,"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  must  n't  let  this  take  all  your  time.  You 
are  n't  going  downtown  at  ten  in  the  morning?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  won't  be  necessary." 

"If  it  should  be,  I  hope  the  company  fails." 

"No,  no,  you  must  n't  say  things  like  that." 

She  looked  so  genuinely  concerned  that  he 
smiled. 

"There'll  have  to  be  directors'  meetings  every 
so  often,  anyway,"  he  reminded  her. 

"Yes?" 

"Once  a  week,"  he  suggested.  "I  think  Del- 
monico's  would  be  a  good  place." 

"All  right,  Dicky,"  she  consented. 

So  within  five  minutes  he  secured  an  extra  divi- 
dend of  at  least  one  hundred  per  cent.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  that  this  bade  fair  to  be  one  of 
the  best  investments  of  his  life. 


JOAN  &  CO.  133 

She  was  still  standing,  and  her  eyes  strayed  often 
to  the  door. 

"I  think  we'd  better  adjourn  now,"  she  said. 

"Very  well,"  he  assented.  "Until  when?" 

"Until  I  tell  you." 

"But  there's  Thursday." 

"I  won't  forget." 

"That,  however,  is  not  a  business  meeting." 

He  took  her  hand  again,  though  he  had  no  par- 
ticular warrant  for  it. 

"Here's  good  luck  to  Joan  &  Co.,"  he  concluded, 
as  he  pressed  it.  t 

"Especially  the  Co.,"  she  smiled. 


D 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  CHALLENGE 

EVONS  had  no  business  to  be  impatient  be- 
cause Joan  remained  below  with  a  visitor 
three  quarters  of  an  hour.  Considering  the  fact  that 
only  a  few  hours  before  he  had  rather  ignomini- 
ously  retreated  from  her  presence,  it  did  not  seem 
to  be  good  judgment  to  begin,  almost  immediately 
afterwards,  to  look  forward  to  an  opportunity  to 
place  himself  again  in  jeopardy  of  her  eyes.  Yet 
that  was  exactly  what  he  did. 

He  was  not  satisfied  with  the  way  he  had  handled 
that  situation.  In  the  first  place,  he  should  have 
stood  his  ground  and  fought  through  to  a  finish 
no  matter  what  the  outcome.  He  discovered  this 
the  moment  he  found  himself  back  in  his  room. 
Leaving  as  he  did,  nothing  whatever  had  been 
settled.  Sooner  or  later  he  must  have  everything 
to  do  all  over  again. 

What  the  deuce  had  been  the  matter  with  him? 
Pacing  the  floor,  he  tried  to  review  the  proposition 
sensibly.  She  had  offered  to  furnish  him  with  the 
capital  to  put  his  dressing  on  the  market  —  to 
enter  into  a  simple  business  arrangement  with 
him.  She  had  done  this  because  of  a  desire  to  have 
an  active  interest  outside  the  petty  routine  of  her 


JOAN  &  CO.  135 

present  life.  He  had  assumed  that  this  was  a  risk 
he  was  not  justified  in  allowing  her  to  take.  But  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  was  it  a  risk?  Had  the  offer  come 
from  a  man  he  would  not  have  hesitated.  He  knew 
what  he  had  —  the  best  and  cheapest  article  of  its 
kind  in  the  world.  Even  Reed  had  not  disputed 
that.  Reed  had  been  frightened  off  by  his  unwill- 
ingness to  give  battle  to  this  man  Burnett,  who- 
ever he  was.  And  that  did  not  influence  Devons  in 
the  slightest.  It  was  like  a  challenge.  That  was  the 
West  in  him  —  the  youth  in  him.  Let  the  conflict 
narrow  down  to  an  individual,  and  he  was  at  his 
best.  Give  him  the  money  to  work  with,  and  he 
would  put  in  the  rest  —  himself.  That  was  what 
Reed  did  not  have.  He  had  only  the  money. 

Considered,  then,  purely  as  a  business  proposi- 
tion, he  stood  unafraid.  If  the  money  came  from 
any  other  source,  he  would  have  accepted  it.  Then 
what  the  deuce  was  the  matter  with  him? 

He  asked  the  question,  but  even  as  he  asked  it 
he  knew  the  answer.  Down  deep  in  his  heart  he 
knew  the  answer.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  admitting 
it.  Now,  suddenly,  squaring  his  shoulders  he  faced 
the  truth.  He  had  dared  allow  himself  to  love  this 
woman.  He,  Mark  Devons,  a  penniless  young 
adventurer  from  the  West,  had  ventured  to  turn 
his  eyes  upwards  to  the  stars  and  stare  overlong 
at  the  whitest-burning  one  of  them  all.  Thrust 
unwarrantedly  into  her  life,  he  had  absorbed  so 


136  JOAN  &  CO. 

much  of  it  that  his  head  had  been  turned.  For 
hours  after  she  left  him  he  had  permitted  himself 
to  feel  that  he  belonged  where  he  was  — •  that  she 
was  not  impossible.  It  was  only  when  he  saw  the 
inevitable  end  of  it  that  he  realized,  and  then  it 
was  too  late.  Not  too  late  for  her,  but  for  him.  If 
he  kept  his  head  steady,  it  was  not  too  late  for 
her.  Thank  God,  his  lips  had  remained  sealed. 
Thank  God,  he  had  given  her  no  inkling  of  how 
he  felt.  He  had  looked  into  her  eyes  and  grown 
dizzy,  but  he  had  remained  dumb.  That  covered 
the  present,  but  what  of  the  future? 

Here  was  where  he  had  certain  inalienable 
rights.  Here  was  where  it  was  his  privilege  to  fly 
as  high  and  as  wild  as  he  chose.  Let  him  get  back 
to  his  work,  and  he  might  hitch  his  wagon  even  to 
such  a  star  as  this.  Give  him  half  an  opportunity, 
and  he  would  win  for  her  the  place  to  which  she 
was  entitled.  Starting  with  nothing,  it  might  have 
looked  like  a  long  path  to  one  in  any  other  mood 
than  this.  But  in  this  mood,  worlds  had  been  con- 
quered in  months.  He  had  read  all  his  life  of  for- 
tunes made  in  a  few  years  in  New  York.  It  was 
being  done  every  day.  The  first  thousand,  some 
one  had  said,  was  the  difficult  thousand.  After 
that  it  was  easy  to  make  it  into  ten;  then  still 
easier  to  turn  that  into  a  hundred  thousand,  and 
so  swiftly  to  jump  to  a  million.  He  would  need  all 
that  for  her  and  more. 


JOAN  &  CO.  137 

If  he  had  the  capital  to-day!  That  is  what  she 
offered  him.  And  to  her  it  meant  so  little.  Yet  be- 
cause this  fight  was  his  fight  and  his  alone,  he 
must  refuse  it.  He  should  have  stood  his  ground 
before  her  and  settled  that  once  for  all.  He  must 
see  her  again  as  soon  as  possible  and  settle  that. 
Had  he  stood  his  ground  before,  it  would  be  all 
settled  now. 

For  a  half-hour  after  he  had  reached  this  de- 
cision —  a  decision  that  left  him  with  his  shoulders 
squared  —  he  was  forced  to  wait  his  opportunity 
to  see  her.  He  had  sent  Jeffrey  to  find  her  and  the 
latter  had  reported : 

"Miss  Fairburne  is  at  present  with  a  guest  in 
the  drawing-room,  sir." 

"Will  you  let  me  know  as  soon  as  she  is  free?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  Jeffrey's  services  were  not  needed.  As  soon 
as  Devons  heard  the  front  door  close,  he  imme- 
diately went  downstairs  only  to  find  her  coming 
upstairs  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  do  come  into  the  drawing-room!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Everything  is  all  settled." 

He  followed  her  below  and  into  the  big  room 
with  the  open  fire.  And  if  at  this  momentous 
conference  he  had  spoken  the  words  that  first 
sprang  to  his  lips,  he  would  have  said  only: 

"How  beautiful  you  are." 

"That  was  Dicky,"  she  announced. 


138  JOAN  &  CO. 

The  name  meant  nothing  to  him.  There  was  no 
particular  reason  why  he  should  have  immediately 
disliked  it. 

"  I  have  known  Dicky  a  great  many  years,"  she 
went  on  to  explain.  Had  she  been  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  that  statement  would  have  been  a  good  deal 
more  reassuring  than  it  was  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"Has  n't  he  any  last  name?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted.  "But  that's  a  secret.  You 
will  understand  in  a  minute.  Dicky  is  very,  very 
nice." 

That,  from  Devons's  point  of  view,  was  if  any- 
thing against  him. 

"So  I  told  him  what  I  wanted." 

Devons  frowned.  This  was  altogether  too  per- 
sonal a  matter  to  confide  in  any  one  else. 

"I  told  him  I  wanted  to  go  into  business,  and 
somehow  Dicky  seemed  to  understand,"  she  hur- 
ried on.  "  I  did  n't  even  tell  him  what  the  business 
was.  He  said  he  did  n't  want  to  know.  But  what  he 
did  ask  was  if  he  could  not  share  it  with  me.  He 
wanted  —  to  be  a  silent  partner  himself." 

"He  did?" 

"So  he  offered  to  furnish  the  capital  and  let  me 
do  what  I  chose  with  it." 

"As  a  partner?"  questioned  Devons. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded.  "Only  he  did  not  wish  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  business  itself." 


JOAN  &  CO.  139 

Devons  appeared  perplexed. 

"It  sounds  queer,"  he  answered.  "Are  you  sure 
you  understood  him?" 

"  It  would  n't  sound  queer  if  you  knew  Dicky." 

"He  has  a  great  deal  of  money?" 

"He — he  seems  to  have  all  he  needs,"  she 
answered. 

"Then  perhaps  that  explains  it,"  concluded 
Devons. 

"But  I  don't  see  the  need  of  an  explanation  of 
any  sort,"  she  replied  with  spirit.  "And  I'm  sure 
if  he  had  more  business  it  would  be  better  for 
him.  He  is  to  bring  me  five  thousand  dollars  at 
once." 

"Five  thousand  dollars!"  gasped  Devons. 

That  in  itself  was  a  fortune. 

"Then  as  much  as  we  need,"  she  ran  on. 

"As  much  as  we  need,"  he  said  over  after  her. 

It  sounded  like  one  of  those  stories  he  used  to 
dream. 

"It  certainly  is  mighty  decent  of  this  Dicky," 
he  added  thoughtfully. 

It  was  all  that  and  a  little  something  more.  A 
man,  no  matter  how  much  money  he  had,  was  not 
apt  to  invest  blindly  five  thousand  dollars  unless 
he  had  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in  his  agent  —  a 
great  deal  more  confidence  than  was  common  in 
the  everyday  business  venture.  In  this  particular 
instance  it  was  obvious  that  this  generous  trust 


140  JOAN  &  CO. 

was  not  based  upon  the  wide  experience  of  the 
agent  or  any  reputation  acquired  by  her  from  past 
successes.  Clearly  it  was  in  the  nature  of  a  blind 
faith  not  usually  associated  with  financial  deals. 
And  yet,  put  himself  in  the  position  of  this  Dicky, 
and  he  had  a  notion  it  was  just  the  sort  of  thing 
he  would  have  done  himself.  He  would  have  looked 
upon  it  as  an  opportunity.  Here  was  a  fair  expla- 
nation, but  it  brought  him  up  with  a  start. 

"You  are  n't  going  to  think  up  any  more  ob- 
jections, are  you?"  she  asked. 

"I  seem  to  be  in  the  minority  now,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "can't  we  call  it  all  settled?" 

Devons  drew  a  deep  breath.  He  met  her  eyes  a 
moment,  and  then  as  he  fought  free  of  them  it  was 
as  though  standing  behind  her  he  met  the  eyes  of 
this  man  Dicky.  And  it  was  as  though  the  latter 
were  smiling  a  challenge.  It  was  as  though  the 
latter  said  to  him  this:  "Well,  will  you  fight  for 
her,  or  shall  I  take  her?" 

There  was  just  one  way.  He  could  not  wait  a 
decade  now.  He  must  seize  this  opportunity,  how- 
ever distasteful  on  general  grounds  it  was  —  how- 
ever unusual.  Perhaps  the  man  had  made  the 
offer  in  the  assurance  that  he,  Devons,  would  fail, 
anyhow.  The  thought  acted  like  a  blow  on  the 
cheek. 

"We'll  call  it  settled,"  answered  Devons. 


JOAN  &  CO.  141 


"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  so  glad!" 
"But  we  must  work  hard  —  partner." 
Her  cheeks  grew  scarlet.  He  saw  her  eyes  spring 
alight. 

"As  hard  as  ever  we  can,"  she  nodded. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PUMPKIN  PIE 

^  I  ^HERE  was  pumpkin  pie  on  the  carte  de  jour 
JL  that  Thursday.  Offhand  one  might  have  said 
that  nothing  was  less  likely  to  influence  the  lives 
of  half  a  dozen  residents  of  New  York  City.  It  is 
very  probable  that  the  proprietors  of  the  hotel 
and  the  chef  who  put  it  there  would  have  denied 
vigorously  having  any  ulterior  design  and  would, 
before  a  court  of  law,  have  disclaimed  all  responsi- 
bility. Doubtless  they  would  have  been  sustained 
by  the  judge. 

However,  there  was  pumpkin  pie  on  the  carte 
de  jour  that  Thursday.  As  Burnett  picked  up  the 
card  with  indifferent  interest,  his  eye  fell  upon  it. 
He  glanced  at  his  son  sitting  opposite  him. 

"Your  mother  used  to  make  the  best  pumpkin 
pie  in  the  State  of  Maine,"  he  observed. 

"So?"  answered  Dicky. 

The  waiter  was  standing  at  Burnett's  shoulder 
with  pad  and  pencil  ready. 

"Give  me  some  of  that  clear  soup,"  Burnett 
ordered. 

"And  whole  wheat  bread,  sir?"   -, 

"Yes,"  nodded  Burnett. 

He  hesitated  after  that. 


JOAN  &  CO.  143 

"The  haddock  is  very  good,  sir,  and  not  fatten- 
ing, as  you  might  say." 

"I'll  try  some." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

With  that  the  waiter  was  for  hurrying  off. 

Burnett  stopped  him.  "  I  'd  like  to  try  a  piece  of 
that  pumpkin  pie,  Dicky,"  he  faltered.  "Just  to 
see  how  it  compares  with  your  mother's." 

"Go  ahead,"  consented  Dicky. 

"A  piece  of  pumpkin  pie,  John,"  Burnett  ordered 
grandly. 

He  actually  rubbed  his  hands  together  in  an- 
ticipation, and  was  immediately  in  better  humor 
with  himself  than  for  a  week.  That  is  what  counted. 
That  is  where  the  pumpkin  pie  played  its  part. 

"Forsythe  handed  me  the  January  statement 
this  morning,"  he  said  to  Dicky.  "Best  month  in 
the  history  of  the  company." 

"Fine!" 

"Ought  to  beat  it  this  month." 

"Hope  you  do." 

Decidedly  this  seemed  to  be  the  moment  for 
which  Dicky  had  been  waiting. 

"By  the  way,  Dad,"  he  began,  "I  have  some- 
thing I  want  to  talk  over  with  you." 

"The  girl?" 

"Not  exactly.  It's  business." 

"Eh?" 

"  I  have  a  chance  to  get  into  something  good." 


144  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Look  here,  my  boy,  you  are  n't  fooling  with  the 
Street?" 

Dicky  smiled. 

"No,  Dad.  I'll  leave  that  game  to  you.  This  is 
something  different." 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  devil  of  it  is  I  can't  tell  you.  A  friend  of 
mine  —  " 

Burnett  raised  his  brows. 

"Not  the  usual  kind  of  friend,"  Dicky  hastened 
to  explain.  "This  is  a  friend  I'd  trust  my  life  with. 
She — er  —  he  wants  me  to  go  in  as  a  silent 
partner." 

"In  what?" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  tell  you.  But  it  promises 
big.  It  promises  to  be  the  biggest  thing  in  my 
life." 

"Sounds  a  bit  queer,"  exclaimed  Burnett. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Dicky,  "it  does.  But  if  I  give 
you  my  word  that  it  is  n't  —  " 

"I  don't  want  your  word.  How  much  do  you 
need?" 

"Five  thousand." 

"When?" 

"Now." 

Burnett  drew  a  check-book  from  his  pocket  and 
wrote  the  check.  It  was  done  so  unhesitatingly, 
so  simply,  that  Dicky  felt  almost  ashamed  to  ac- 
cept it. 


JOAN  &  CO.  145 

"That's  white  of  you,  Dad,"  he  exclaimed. 

Burnett  raised  a  portion  of  the  pie  to  his  mouth 
and  tasted  it  critically. 

"  It  is  n't  as  good  as  your  mother's,"  he  decided. 
"But  it's  almighty  good." 


CHAPTER  XV 

LIKE  NAPOLEON 

IT  was  this  same  Thursday,  too,  that  Joan  came 
to  the  house  to  tea.  She  came  at  four  o'clock 
looking  radiant.  It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Dicky 
when  he  introduced  her  to  his  mother  because  he 
knew  Joan  was  justifying  in  every  detail  the  most 
enthusiastic  description  of  her  he  had  ever  given. 
It  was  difficult  to  understand  how  it  was  possible 
for  Joan  to  grow  any  younger  than  she  always  was, 
but  she  looked  younger;  it  was  difficult  to  under- 
stand how  she  could  look  any  fresher  than  she 
always  did,  but  this  afternoon  she  accomplished 
in  some  way  that  feat  also.  For  one  thing  her  eyes 
were  wider  open  than  they  sometimes  were,  and 
instead  of  merely  listening  in  a  half-amused,  half- 
critical  fashion,  she  herself  dominated  the  con- 
versation. This,  to  be  sure,  relegated  him  more  or 
less  to  the  background,  but  he  was  content  to 
have  it  so. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  in  some  mysterious 
way  the  older  woman  and  the  younger  woman 
formed  an  instant  liking  one  for  the  other.  Dicky 
had  expected  each  to  admire  the  other  and,  given 
time,  had  anticipated  a  formal  friendship,  but  it 


JOAN  &  CO.  147 

was  as  though  in  minutes  they  spanned  months. 
The  moment  their  hands  clasped  and  their  eyes 
met,  the  two  seemed  to  have  come  to  some  sort 
of  an  agreement.  It  puzzled  him.  Beyond  the  fact 
that  they  were  two  women  and  each  in  her  way 
quite  perfect,  they  had  no  common  bond  between 
them.  He  had  been  rather  afraid  that  his  mother, 
in  her  old-fashioned  way,  might  not  be  able  at 
once  to  penetrate  to  the  woman  in  Joan,  and  he 
had  suspected  that  Joan,  in  her  turn,  might  be  at 
first  confused  by  his  mother's  quaint  frankness. 
But  before  he  knew  it,  here  they  were  seated  at 
their  tea  in  front  of  the  fire,  talking  so  directly 
one  to  the  other  that  he  was  more  or  less  on  the 
outside. 

This,  because  of  the  subject-matter,  was  more 
or  less  embarrassing.  There  were  moments  when  if 
possible  he  would  have  fled.  Because  in  less  than 
five  minutes  his  mother  had  revealed  her  one 
weakness  and  dragged  in  him,  Dicky,  and  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  infancy  and  early  youth  as  the 
major  topic.  How  it  happened,  Lord  knows.  At 
the  beginning  he  tried  to  switch  her  off.  It  was 
entirely  useless,  because  it  was  apparent  that  she 
was  being  aided  and  abetted  by  Joan  herself. 
The  latter  even  rebuked  him  openly. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  when  once  he  endeavored  to 
turn  the  subject  to  the  weather,  "Dicky,  it  is  not 
polite  to  interrupt  like  that." 


i48  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  know,  but—  " 

She  turned  her  back  upon  him  and  gave  his 
mother  her  cue. 

"So  he  came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  in  his 
nighty  —  " 

His  mother,  thus  encouraged,  went  on.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  puerilely  inane  than  that 
episode  of  how  Dicky  at  the  age  of  four  came 
downstairs  one  evening  in  that  garb  and  enter- 
tained two  of  his  father's  business  friends  who  had 
come  to  talk  over  very  important  matters.  It 
seems  that  his  father  did  him  up  in  an  over- 
coat, put  him  in  a  chair,  and  made  him  an  ex- 
officio  director  of  the  proposed  company. 

Of  course  one  such  yarn  inevitably  led  to  an- 
other. Before  the  close  of  the  afternoon  Joan  was 
in  possession  of  a  first-hand  report  of  most  of  the 
fool  things  he  had  ever  done  up  to  the  time  he 
went  to  college.  The  only  feature  upon  which  he 
could  congratulate  himself  was  that  at  this  point 
the  narrative  inevitably  ended,  although  he  could 
not  say  as  much  about  all  the  fool  things. 

And  yet,  when  it  came  time  to  go,  Joan  actually 
told  his  mother  with  all  evidence  of  sincerity  that 
she  had  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  afternoon. 

"And,"  she  added,  "you'll  let  me  come  again 
and  hear  more?5' 

"There  is  n't  any  more,"  put  in  Dicky. 

"I'm  sure  there  is,"  she  smiled. 


JOAN  &  CO.  149 

"If  you  keep  on  I'll  get  your  mother  in  a  corner 
some  day,"  he  threatened. 

"  I  'm  afraid  anything  she  might  tell  of  me  would 
only  bore  you,"  she  returned. 

"You  don't  know  how  much  she  might  make  up." 

Mrs.  Burnett  appeared  disturbed. 

"Dicky,"  she  protested,  "every  one  of  those 
things  was  true." 

"I  know  they  were  and  he  knows  it  too,"  Joan 
sided  with  her,  taking  her  hand.  "  Some  day  soon 
I  may  run  in  quite  informally,  may  I?" 

"You'll  always  be  welcome  here,"  answered 
Mrs.  Burnett. 

There  was  something  in  her  voice  that  made  the 
girl  look  up,  not  at  her,  but  at  Dicky.  But  he,  in- 
hospitably enough,  was  apparently  only  anxious 
to  help  her  leave.  So,  suddenly,  she  kissed  Mrs. 
Burnett  on  the  cheek  and  went  out  with  him. 

In  the  car  she  proceeded  to  scold. 

"  I  don't  think  you  treat  your  mother  as  nicely 
as  you  should,"  she  declared. 

"You  mean  I  should  n't  throw  her  downstairs!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  She  is  very  fond  of 
you,  Dicky." 

"You  speak  as  though  there  was  something  un- 
natural about  that." 

"And  she  is  very  proud  of  you.  At  times  it  was 
almost  as  though  she  were  talking  about  Napoleon." 


150  JOAN  &  CO. 

"You  oughtn't  to  blame  me  for  that,"  he 
protested. 

"I'm  not  blaming  you,  only  you  might  try —  " 

"She  would  n't  at  all  approve  of  me  if  I  were 
really  like  Napoleon,"  he  broke  in. 

"In  some  things,  perhaps  not,"  she  hastened  to 
admit.  "  I  should  n't  myself.  But  in  some  other 
things  —  " 

"I  am,"  he  nattered  himself. 

As  though  to  prove  it  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
the  check  for  five  thousand.  He  handed  it  to  her 
with  every  evidence  of  satisfaction.  She  merely 
rolled  it  into  a  little  tube  and  placed  it  in  her  muff. 

"I  shall  send  you  a  receipt  for  this,"  she  said. 

That  was  all  —  at  a  point  when  if  encouraged 
in  the  slightest  he  would  have  told  her  by  what  a 
nice  bit  of  strategy  —  the  strategy  of  the  pumpkin 
pie  —  he  had  secured  this  for  her.  He  did  not, 
however,  volunteer  the  story,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  he  was  on  the  whole  glad.  He  doubted  if  it 
would  have  impressed  her  as  humorous.  He 
doubted  next  if  it  really  was  humorous.  After  all 
he  had  meant  what  he  said  and  his  father  had 
meant  what  he  said,  and  Joan  had  meant  what  she 
said.  It  had  been  a  serious  transaction. 

At  the  house  she  did  not  ask  him  in  as  he  hoped 
she  might.  Instead  she  merely  smiled  an  au  revoir 
to  him  as  they  stood  in  the  open  door  with  Jeffrey 
near  her  at  attention.  He  might  not  have  thought 


JOAN  &  CO.  151 

much  about  this,  if  at  that  moment,  in  glancing 
over  her  shoulder,  he  had  not  seen  coming  down 
the  broad  stairs  in  the  rear  the  figure  of  a  young 
man  with  his  shoulder  in  bandages.  The  fellow  met 
his  eyes  and  paused.  So  for  a  second  they  faced 
each  other,  questioning,  wondering. 

Joan  turned  from  Dicky  at  the  door  to  Devons 
on  the  stair  behind  her  and  then  back  to  Dicky, 
with  a  feeling  that  the  situation  was  tense  out  of 
all  proportion.  For  a  moment  she  was  confused  and 
uncertain.  She  did  not  know  quite  what  to  do.  But 
Dicky  did.  His  eyes  came  back  to  hers  and  from 
them  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  say  if  he 
had  seen  Devons  or  not. 

"Let  me  know  when  you  want  me  again,"  he 
said. 

"Thank  you,  Dicky,"  she  exclaimed. 

With  that  he  turned  and  went  down  the  steps. 
With  that,  swinging  his  stick  lightly,  he  went 
down  the  street  and  around  a  corner. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  DEVONS  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 

DR.  NICHOLS  relieved  Devons  from  the  bur- 
den of  most  of  his  bandages  on  Sunday,  and 
the  latter,  on  Monday,  after  paying  his  respects  to 
Mrs.  Fairburne,  left  the  house  in  the  same  machine 
which  had  brought  him  there.  Mrs.  Fairburne  was 
with  her  daughter  when  Devons  took  his  departure 
and  was  forced  to  admit  that  Joan  conducted  her- 
self in  every  respect  like  a  young  lady  of  good 
sense  and  propriety.  It  was  quite  apparent  that 
in  the  end  the  Fairburne  blood  triumphed  over 
all  sentimentality.  Not  that  deep  in  her  heart  she 
had  honestly  feared  anything,  but  it  was  a  relief 
to  know  that  the  unusual  episode  was  now  ended 
so  happily  and  definitely.  She  was  sure  that  her 
bridge  game  would  immediately  pick  up. 

Charles,  the  driver,  had  considerable  difficulty 
in  locating  Mullen  Court.  So  probably  would  any 
one  who  did  not  live  there.  The  directions  are  to 
go  along  lower  Sixth  Avenue  until  you  come  to  a 
hole  in  a  wall  and  —  there  you  are.  The  hole  is 
not  large  enough  to  admit  a  machine.  But  the 
trick  is  to  find  the  hole. 

Charles  passed  it  twice,  and  might  have  gone  on 
passing  it  in  both  directions  all  day  if  he  had  not 


JOAN  &  CO.  153 

stopped  and  roused  Devons  from  his  reverie.  The 
latter,  sitting  back  in  the  corner  of  the  soft- 
cushioned  tonneau,  had  been  so  busy  with  his 
thoughts  that  he  did  not  even  glance  from  the 
window.  When  he  heard  the  voice  of  Charles  it 
was  like  being  suddenly  awakened. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  see  no  street  sign 
with  Mullen  Court  on  it." 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  one,"  answered  Devons. 

"Then,  sir—  " 

"We 're  there  now." 

Charles  looked  about,  bewildered. 

"Watch  where  I  go  and  you'll  see.  I  shan't  need 
you  any  more  to-day." 

Charles  saw  him  disappear  through  an  opening 
in  the  wall  which  looked  as  though  it  led  into 
nothing  but  an  alley.  He  made  a  note  of  this  in- 
formation and  it  proved  useful  later  on. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the  opening  led 
into  a  little  courtyard  and  to  a  group  of  three  or 
four  houses  facing  it.  Devons  ascended  a  short 
flight  of  steps  bounded  by  an  iron  rail  and  hurried 
to  the  second  floor.  He  paused  a  moment  to  rap  at 
Arkwright's  door. 

"Come  in!"  shouted  Arkwright. 

Devons  stepped  in.  Arkwright  jumped  to  his 
feet. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!"  he  exclaimed;  "Devons 
or  his  ghost!" 


154  JOAN  &  CO. 

Devons  backed  away  from  the  outstretched  hand. 

"Careful  of  my  shoulder,"  he  warned.  "It's 
just  out  of  bandages." 

"Eh?  What  the  deuce  has  happened  to  you? 
Here." 

Arkwright  shoved  forward  a  chair. 

"Sit  down  and  tell  us  about  it.  I  thought  you 
must  have  gone  West." 

"I've  been  right  here  in  New  York  all  the  time." 

"You're  looking  fine,  man.  A  bit  of  luck?" 

"In  a  sense." 

"Great.  I've  been  putting  in  a  lot  of  time  on 
that  house  of  yours.  I  '11  show  it  to  you  later.  Have 
you  come  back  to  join  us  again  or  to  say  good-bye  ? " 

"I've  come  back  to  go  to  work,"  answered 
Devons. 

"Well,  you  certainly  look  fit.  I  was  rather  wor- 
ried about  you  when  you  were  here  last.  What's 
your  prescription?" 

Devons  grinned. 

"I'm  not  sure  it  would  suit  every  one,"  he 
answered.  "But  what  I  did  was  to  go  out  and  get 
run  down  by  an  automobile." 

"What?" 

"You  have  to  use  some  judgment  in  selecting 
your  machine,"  explained  Devons.  "I  picked  out 
a  good  one." 

"You're  kidding?" 

"Not  a  mite.  I  was  knocked  unconscious  and  I 


JOAN  &  CO.  155 

was  pretty  well  bruised,  but  as  a  result  of  it  all 
I  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

"Rather  heroic  treatment!"  exclaimed  Ark- 
wright.  "Did  they  take  you  to  a  hospital?" 

"They  took  me  to  a  palace  and  treated  me  like 
a  prince,"  replied  Devons. 

"Now,  look  here —  "  protested  Arkwright. 

"I'm  telling  the  bald  truth,"  insisted  Devons. 
"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  that  house,  Ark- 
wright. It  reminded  me  something  of  the  one  you  're 
doing.  Miss  Fairburne  —  " 

"Miss?"  interrupted  Arkwright. 

"She's  the  daughter,"  explained  Devons.  He 
grew  self-conscious  beneath  Arkwright's  smiling 
eyes.  "What's  queer  about  that?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing,"  Arkwright  hastened  to  assure  him. 
"In  fact  it  makes  the  whole  story  more  plausible. 
She  is  —  er —  attractive?" 

"  She 's  wonderful,  Arkwright ! "  declared  Devons. 
"She's  one  in  ten  thousand.  I  want  you  to  meet 
her  some  day." 

"Thanks.  I'd  like  to.  Bring  her  in  and  let  her 
see  my  blue-prints." 

"I'll  do  that — if  things  turn  out  right," 
Devons  promised. 

He  rose  abruptly.  It  reminded  him  of  the  thou- 
sand and  one  details  that  lay  ahead  of  him. 

"I  have  my  work  cut  out  for  the  next  few 
months,"  he  observed.  "I'll  see  you  later." 


156  JOAN  &  CO. 

Arkwright  went  to  the  door  with  him.  He  liked 
the  spark  in  the  man's  eyes;  he  liked  the  way  he 
held  his  shoulders. 

"Gad!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  tempt  a  fellow  to 
try  the  same  sort  of  bracer." 

Devons  went  on  up  to  his  room  with  the  springy 
step  of  a  boy  of  eighteen  and  unlocked  his  door. 
He  hesitated,  however,  before  going  in.  It  was  like 
returning  to  the  past,  and  for  a  second  he  had  an 
uncanny  fear  that  once  within  he  might  be  held 
here  by  this  past.  Arkwright  had  not  more  than 
half  believed,  and  Arkwright  knew  only  a  fraction 
of  the  truth.  Here  was  the  same  narrow,  bare  hall- 
way he  had  left  some  six  weeks  before,  and  once 
inside  he  would  be  facing  even  more  barren  sur- 
roundings. What  if  then  the  whole  episode  should 
turn  out  to  be  nothing  but  a  flighty  dream? 
It  had  happened  before  when  he  had  come  back 
here. 

Devons  drew  back  and  fumbled  for  his  inside 
pocket.  The  proof  of  the  truth,  if  there  were  any 
truth,  would  be  found  there.  He  pulled  out  two  or 
three  letters  —  an  old  letter  from  home  and  the 
letter  from  Reed  and  the  letter  from  Sawyer.  That 
was  all  he  found.  The  color  went  from  his  face. 
With  trembling  fingers  he  felt  in  his  waistcoat 
pockets.  In  the  first  two  he  found  nothing;  in  the 
third  he  discovered  a  folded  bit  of  paper.  He 
breathed  normally  again.  Unfolding  it  he  read  the 


JOAN  &  CO.  157 

mysterious  message  addressed  to  a  certain  na- 
tional bank. 

"Pay  to  the  order  of  Mark  Devons  one  hundred 
dollars  and  no  cents."  It  was  signed,  "Joan  Fair- 
burne."  She  had  started  an  account  for  the  firm 
before  he  left  and  insisted  upon  advancing  him 
that  much  for  current  expenses. 

He  opened  the  door  without  fear  now  and 
stepped  into  the  little  room.  On  the  table  lay  his 
corn-cob  pipe  where  he  had  left  it;  on  the  couch 
bed  were  scattered  his  books,  one  open  at  the  very 
page  where  he  had  quit  reading.  Except  for  a 
couple  of  wooden  chairs  and  his  old  dress-suit-case, 
that  was  all  the  room  contained.  He  crossed  to  the 
single  window  and  threw  it  open  and  let  in  the 
stinging  clear  winter  air. 

In  contrast  to  the  luxuries  he  had  just  left,  the 
place,  even  with  the  slip  of  green  paper  in  his 
hand,  depressed  him.  For  a  moment  he  caught  his 
breath  and  shrank  back  from  it.  Then  he  smiled. 
After  all,  if  he  would  only  let  it,  this  would  give 
edge  to  all  that  lay  ahead.  Because  of  what  was  to 
be  he  could  show  her  what  had  been  with  the 
greater  relish.  It  was  in  that  spirit  men  revisited 
the  early  scenes  of  their  boyhood  hardships. 

Besides,  he  had  no  time  to  waste  on  this  or  any 
other  kind  of  dreaming.  That  was  the  difference 
between  to-day  and  yesterday.  That  was  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  check.  He  was  in  a  position  now  to 


i58  JOAN  &  CO. 

act.  He  had  before  him  certain  definite  things  to 
do.  In  the  first  place,  he  must  find  some  sort  of 
loft-room  which  would  serve  him  as  a  laboratory. 
Then  he  must  secure  a  permit  to  use  the  type  of 
chemicals  that  were  necessary.  Then  there  were 
the  chemicals  to  buy  and  certain  apparatus.  He 
had  planned  these  details  many  times  in  his  mind 
and  now  he  was  to  accomplish  them. 

His  scheme  was  simple.  It  was  to  begin  manu- 
facturing by  himself  as  soon  as  he  could  equip  his 
laboratory,  and  then,  as  fast  as  he  had  stock 
enough  on  hand,  take  it  personally  to  the  small 
users  in  town  and  supply  enough  to  enable  them 
to  give  it  a  thorough  trial.  The  small  manufacturer 
would  be  willing  to  experiment  with  anything  that 
promised  a  twenty  per  cent  reduction  in  price, 
besides  better  results.  He  had  several  letters  from 
professors  at  Tech  under  whom  he  had  worked 
which  would  introduce  him  anywhere  and  vouch 
for  his  reliability.  So  there  remained  nothing  to  do 
but  to  go  ahead. 

Devons  returned  to  Arkwright. 

"Have  you  an  account  with  any  bank  near 
here?"  he  inquired. 

"Such  as  it  is,"  admitted  Arkwright.  "How 
much  do  you  want?" 

"I  don't  want  to  borrow,"  Devons  answered 
quickly;  "I  want  to  open  a  little  account  of  my 
own.  I  thought  you  might  introduce  me." 


JOAN  &  CO.  159 

"Glad  to  do  it,"  nodded  Arkwright  with  a  trace 
of  relief.  "  I  '11  go  up  there  now.  But  say  —  that 
does  n't  come  of  getting  run  over?" 

"Indirectly,"  admitted  Devons.  "Through  Miss 
Fairburne  I  found  a  partner  willing  to  furnish  me 
with  capital." 

"Believe  me,"  returned  Arkwright,  "you've 
certainly  discovered  a  fresh  and  original  way  of 
getting  on  in  New  York.  Here 's  hoping  your  luck 
lasts." 

The  experience  of  being  introduced  to  a  real  live 
cashier  behind  a  grilled  fence  was,  in  itself,  thrilling 
enough.  With  a  brand-new  check-book  of  his  own 
in  his  pocket,  Devons  came  out  feeling  as  important 
as  though  instead  of  one  hundred  dollars  he  had  de- 
posited one  hundred  thousand.  There  was  nothing 
about  the  blank  leaves  to  indicate  it  was  not  the 
latter  sum.  A  check-book  is  the  most  indiscreet 
thing  in  the  world.  It  always  politely  assumes  its 
possessor  is  a  millionaire. 

Devons  left  Arkwright  at  the  imposing  structure 
which  was  now  his  bank  and  went  on  to  a  real- 
estate  office  he  had  privately  visited  before  on  one 
of  those  idle  days  when  he  was  waiting  to  hear  from 
Reed.  He  had  spoken  then  in  rather  larger  figures 
than  he  used  now.  He  wanted,  to  start  with,  a 
small  space,  but  one  that  offered  room  for  expan- 
sion. And  he  found  it  there  waiting  for  him  as 
though  his  coming  had  been  anticipated. 


160  JOAN  &  CO. 

At  the  very  top  of  a  building,  off  Third  Avenue, 
Dr.  Dent  had  begun  the  manufacture  of  a  Uni- 
versal Remedy  on  a  scale  which,  though  justified 
on  paper,  did  not  work  out  in  practice.  There 
being  some  hundred  million  inhabitants  in  these, 
the  United  States  of  America,  the  company  had 
estimated  that  at  least  a  thousand  bottles  a  day 
would  be  necessary  to  supply  the  annual  demand. 
This  was  allowing  about  one  bottle  to  every  three 
hundred  people.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the 
demand  was  considerably  less  and  so  a  policy  of 
retrenchment  became  necessary.  The  firm  having 
rented  the  entire  floor  was  now  ardently  desirous 
of  sub-letting  a  portion  of  its  space  with  a  fair 
possibility  of  becoming  equally  desirous,  within 
six  months,  of  sub-letting  more  unless  the  Ameri- 
can public  suddenly  turned  more  appreciative 
than  it  now  showed  promise  of  doing. 

Devons  accompanied  the  agent  up  there  at  once 
and  found  it  exactly  what  he  wanted.  And  the 
price  was  right!  Under  the  circumstances  it  had 
to  be.  In  less  than  an  hour  he  had  signed  a  lease 
for  a  year  and  arranged  for  certain  partitions  to 
be  erected  and  for  an  inscription  upon  the  door  to 
read: 

DEVONS  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 

All  this  was  accomplished  on  the  first  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UPTOWN  AND  DOWNTOWN 

FROM  a  purely  business  point  of  view  the  let- 
ters Joan  received  from  Devons,  during  the 
next  few  weeks,  were  wholly  satisfactory.  No  pro- 
moter could  have  asked  in  a  new  enterprise  for 
better  progress  upon  which  to  base  reports  to  his 
clients.  The  very  next  morning  after  he  left  she 
received  the  following  note: 

MY  DEAR  Miss  FAIRBURNE: 

I  opened  yesterday  an  account  with  the 

National  Bank  and  would  suggest  that  you  make 
a  deposit  there  at  once  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars, 
so  that  I  may  draw  on  it  for  payment  of  lease  and 
for  chemicals  which  I  must  purchase  at  once.  I 
have  secured  most  desirable  manufacturing  quar- 
ters at  43  Blank  Street  and  have  ordered  certain 
necessary  changes  to  be  made  there  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  hope,  within  a  very  short  time,  to  be 
able  to  report  to  you  that  active  manufacturing 
on  a  small  scale  has  begun. 

Very  sincerely  yours 

MARK  DEVONS 

Certainly  a  business  woman  had  no  right  to 
quarrel  with  such  progress  as  this.  She  had  sup- 


162  JOAN  &  CO. 

posed  that  it  would  take  Devons  a  fortnight,  at 
least,  to  recuperate  sufficiently  to  be  able  even  to 
consider  plans  for  the  future.  It  would  seem,  then, 
that  instead  of  being  more  or  less  vexed  after 
reading  the  note  which  Henriette  handed  her,  with 
coffee  and  toast,  before  she  was  dressed,  she  should 
have  been  highly  elated.  It  began  to  look  as  though 
at  this  rate  the  firm,  within  six  months,  would  be 
paying  dividends. 

Joan  ran  through  the  note  again.  She  had  never 
before  in  her  life  had  anything  so  impersonal  ad- 
dressed to  her.  Had  it  been  printed  it  could  not 
have  sounded  any  more  frigidly  distant.  He  had 
deliberately  put  in  all  the  details  about  which  she 
cared  nothing  and  with  equal  deliberation  left  out 
all  that  would  have  been  interesting.  What  she 
wanted  to  know  was  how  he  had  stood  the  ride 
and  if  his  shoulder  felt  as  stiff  as  it  did  on  Sunday 
after  the  bandages  were  removed.  He  had  told 
her  about  Arkwright  and  she  wanted  to  hear  what 
Arkwright  had  said  to  him  when  he  came  back 
and  what  he  had  said  to  Arkwright.  And  she 
wanted  to  know  if  he  had  found  everything  in  his 
room  all  right.  Particularly  if  he  found  his  books 
about  which  he  had  worried.  And  if  there  was  a 
letter  from  home  waiting  for  him.  Unconsciously 
and  bit  by  bit  he  had  made  his  life  in  Mullen 
Court  extremely  vivid  to  her  in  their  rambling 
conversations.  It  sounded  like  an  impossible  place 


JOAN  &  CO.  163 

to  live  in,  but  interesting.  He  had  left  off,  inevit- 
ably enough,  in  his  narrative  of  his  life  there  at 
the  point  where  he  had  joined  Arkwright  in  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  gone  out  to  see  Sawyer.  She  had 
looked  forward  to  a  description  of  his  home-com- 
ing as  to  a  new  installment  of  a  serial.  And  he  had 
not  said  a  word  about  it.  He  had  cut  her  off 
abruptly  from  everything  but  the  sordid  details  of 
the  business  itself.  It  was  as  though  in  going  back 
into  the  world  he  had  left  her  behind. 

She  sent  her  check  to  the  bank  that  morning 
and  waited  for  the  second  letter.  It  was  possible, 
after  all,  that  in  the  press  of  business  he  had  not 
found  time  to  write  more  fully.  She  waited  three 
days  and  received  the  following: 

MY  DEAR  Miss  FATRBURNE: 

Thanks  for  the  deposit.  I  have  been  extremely 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  secure,  without  waiting, 
my  raw  materials  and  machinery.  I  expect  to  have 
the  latter  delivered  within  ten  days.  I  enclose  an 
inventory  of  what  I  have  contracted  for. 

Then  followed  a  page  of  weird-sounding  chemi- 
cals and  parts  of  machinery  with  all  the  costs 
itemized.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  stupid. 
It  was  as  stupid  as  his  close. 

Very  sincerely  yours 

MARK  DEVONS 


164  JOAN  &  CO. 

It  was  stupid  even  to  Dicky  when,  in  a  general 
way,  she  tried  to  give  him  an  idea  of  what  was 
being  done. 

"We're  getting  on,"  he  nodded  indifferently. 
"It  sounds  as  though  we  were  making  patent 
medicine." 

"  It  is  n't  that,"  she  assured  him. 

"Then  bombs,  perhaps." 

"Nor  bombs." 

"Well,  here's  hoping,  whatever  it  is." 

That  apparently  was  as  much  as  he  cared  about 
his  new  business.  On  the  whole  it  was  probably 
better  so. 

Joan  was  forced  to  admit,  for  one  thing,  that 
she  missed  —  really  missed  —  not  seeing  Devons 
around  the  house.  That  was  only  natural.  For  six 
weeks  he  had  occupied  the  front  room,  which  was 
now  closed.  And  for  the  last  few  weeks  he  had 
occupied  a  great  deal  of  the  rest  of  the  house. 
Whenever  she  had  come  from  her  own  room  it  was 
with  the  prospect  of  meeting  him,  either  on  the 
stairs  or  in  the  library.  And  always  she  was  glad 
to  find  him.  Always,  too,  he  appeared  glad  to  see 
her.  He  gave  piquancy  to  her  everyday  life. 

Now  she  wandered  all  around  the  house  with 
nothing  to  look  forward  to.  Her  parents  and  the 
servants  were  still  about,  to  be  sure,  but  they 
involved  no  expectancy.  She  met  them  as  un- 
emotionally as  her  own  reflection  in  the  mirror.  So 


JOAN  &  CO.  165 

she  turned  back  to  Dicky  and  for  a  week  made  life 
for  him  worth  living.  She  went  wherever  he  asked 
her  to  go,  picking  up  her  social  obligations  where 
she  had  dropped  them,  so  unceremoniously,  many 
weeks  before. 

f  Dicky  could  not  understand  the  change.  He  did 
not  try.  He  accepted  it  as  a  miracle  and  let  it  go 
at  that.  He  was  coming  to  be  firmly  of  the  opinion 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  explain  Joan.  One  took 
her  as  she  was  from  day  to  day  and  played  in  luck 
or  out  of  luck  according  as  she  smiled  or  frowned. 
.  Of  course,  this  called  for  most  of  his  time  that 
week,  but  it  cannot  be  truthfully  said  that  he  be- 
grudged it.  Neither  for  that  matter  did  any  one 
else.  For  several  days  he  never  came  near  the  office 
at  all,  but  when,  toward  the  middle  of  the  week, 
he  did  drop  in  one  afternoon,  his  father's  only 
comment  was : 

"Busy  these  days?" 

"Very,"  answered  Dicky. 

"How's  the  new  business  going?" 

"We 're  getting  on." 

"Stick  to  it,"  his  father  encouraged  him.  "When 
you  start  a  thing,  jump  in  with  both  feet." 

"You  bet." 

"If  you  need  more  money —  " 

"Thanks,  Dad,  I'll  let  you  know." 

His  father  seemed  so  much  in  earnest  that  the 
next  time  Dicky  met  Joan  he  felt  it  his  duty  to 


166  JOAN  &  CO. 

introduce  the  subject  himself  with  a  view  to  show- 
ing more  real  interest.  So  he  did,  between  the  num- 
bers of  a  concert  the  next  afternoon,  to  which  he 
accompanied  her  at  some  genuine  sacrifice.  His 
personal  taste  in  music  did  not  run  to  the  clas- 
sics as  interpreted  on  the  violin  by  long-haired 
prodigies.  Neither  did  hers,  as  far  as  one  could 
judge  by  the  lack  of  attention  she  gave  to  the 
successive  numbers. 

"How  is  everything  downtown?"  he  inquired. 

She  appeared  at  first  rather  confused  by  the 
question,  because  her  thoughts,  at  that  moment, 
had  been  downtown,  though  not  particularly  in 
the  business  world. 

"Everything  getting  on  all  right?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  trace  of  color.  "The 
machinery  arrived  day  before  yesterday.  We're  — 
we're  setting  it  up." 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  trying  his  best  to  show 
enthusiasm.  "Need  any  help?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  she  answered.  ' 

"Afraid?" 

"He  won't  let  any  one  help." 

"He  —  being  our  partner?" 

"Yes,  Dicky." 

"Sort  of  an  independent  chap?" 

"Yes." 

That  was  in  his  favor.  On  the  whole,  it  was 


JOAN  &  CO.  167 

a  virtue,  Dicky  was  convinced,  which  should  be 
encouraged. 

"Nothing  like  doing  a  thing  yourself  if  you 
want  it  well  done,"  he  declared. 

"Only  sometimes  it's  selfish,  isn't  it?"  she 
asked. 

"It's  business,"  he  insisted. 

Dicky  thought  a  moment. 

"Maybe  most  every  one  is  selfish,"  he  went  on. 

"Except  you,"  she  smiled. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  conference  because  the 
long-haired  violinist  began  again.  When  a  little 
later  Dicky  attempted  to  pick  up  the  conversation 
where  it  was  dropped,  he  found  it  difficult. 

But  he  treasured  that  little  remark  of  hers,  even 
though  he  was  not  fully  convinced  it  was  justified 
—  treasured  it  because  it  was  the  last  thing  of  the 
sort  he  had  from  her  for  some  time.  He  took  her 
back  to  the  house  after  the  concert,  expecting  to 
call  for  her  again  that  evening  for  a  dance  given 
by  the  Devereauxs.  He  had  particularly  looked 
forward  to  this  because  it  was  here  the  little 
courtyard  was,  and  if  ever  again  she  ventured  out 
there  with  him  looking  as  beautiful  as  she  had 
been  looking  lately  — 

But  there  is  not  much  use  dealing  with  "ifs." 
Before  eight  o'clock  that  evening  he  received  from 
her  a  telephone  message  at  the  house  which  read 
simply: 


i68  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Miss  Fairburne  is  very  sorry,  indeed,  but  must 
ask  to  be  excused  from  her  engagement  of  this 
evening." 

It  sounded  ominous.  When  he  tried  to  get  her 
on  the  'phone  he  received  from  Jeffrey  the  curt 
reply: 

"Miss  Fairburne  is  not  in,  sir." 

It  was  literally  true  this  time.  Shortly  before 
eight  Joan  had  been  sitting  in  her  room  fully 
dressed  for  the  evening,  looking  such  a  perfect 
thing  that  Henriette,  in  her  pride,  had  taken  the 
great  liberty  of  hurrying  below  to  Mrs.  Fairburne, 
who,  herself,  was  on  her  way  out. 

"Madame  —  you  should  see.  Never  has  Mam'- 
selle  looked  more  beautiful." 

So  Madame  Fairburne  mounted  the  stairs  and 
stepped  in,  and,  in  her  joy,  kissed  her  daughter  on 
the  forehead. 

"It  is  charming,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Bur- 
nett should  be  proud." 

"Of  the  gown?"  she  had  asked. 

"Only  you  could  wear  the  gown." 

Joan  shrugged  her  white  shoulders  ever  so 
slightly  and  went  downstairs  to  the  library  where 
she  used  to  wait  for  Devons.  Alone  she  sat  before 
the  fire.  She  had  heard  nothing  from  him  yes- 
terday, nothing  to-day,  and  she  was  a  bit  wor- 
ried. Considered  in  connection  with  machinery 
this  silence  might  mean  almost  anything.  To  her, 


JOAN  &  CO.  169 

machinery  signified  a  disordered  medley  of  whirl- 
ing wheels  and  noises,  which,  like  some  inhuman 
monster,  was  ever  seeking  the  limbs  and  lives  of 
those  around  it. 

Of  course,  in  one  way  it  could  not  be  said  that 
she  was  seriously  disturbed  about  the  remote  pos- 
sibility of  his  having  met  with  an  accident  of 
this  nature,  but  it  served  as  an  excuse  for  worry- 
ing about  him  at  all.  In  many  ways  not  to  have 
had  some  such  concrete  explanation  of  her  pres- 
ent frame  of  mind  would  have  been  to  admit  a 
fact  that  might  have  turned  out  still  more  dis- 
turbing. 

Until  now  she  had  heard  from  Devons  every 
day.  The  communications  were  nothing  she  need 
be  ashamed  of.  They  could  have  been  published 
in  the  daily  paper  without  compromising  any  one. 
Still  they  were  always  in  his  own  handwriting  and 
to  that  extent  were  personal.  It  was  only  natural, 
then,  that  a  lapse  of  forty-eight  hours  should  seem 
significant.  She  rather  clung  to  that  word  "na- 
tural." When  honestly  used  it  may  mean  a  great 
deal  by  the  process  of  elimination.  It  is  only  the 
unnatural  mental  phenomena  that  need  give  any 
one  cause  for  concern. 

Then  to  muse  at  some  length  over  the  possi- 
ble causes  that  would  lead  one's  business  part- 
ner suddenly  to  cut  all  lines  of  communication 
was  perfectly  legitimate  —  perfectly  natural.  This 


i7o  JOAN  &  CO. 

much  being  established  she  felt  free  to  stare  into 
the  flames  and  day-dream  as  much  as  she  liked. 
She  dismissed  the  accident  theory  almost  as  soon 
as  she  became  fully  at  ease.  He  did  not  write  be- 
cause he  was  too  busy  and  because  he  refused  to 
associate  her  with  his  work  except  in  his  idle  mo- 
ments. It  was  not  a  flattering  admission,  but  she 
was  not  seeking  flattery.  She  was  trying  to  see 
straight  and  clear.  He  refused  to  take  her  seriously. 
He  saw  her  only  as  Henriette  saw  her  —  a  dress- 
maker's form  upon  which  to  hang  clothes.  She  could 
scarcely  blame  him  for  that.  If  he  had  walked  into 
the  room  at  this  moment,  he  would  have  had  the 
evidence  of  his  two  eyes.  If  he  had  followed  her 
about  during  this  past  week,  he  would  have  seen 
her  living  true  to  his  conception.  If  —  he  had  gone 
no  deeper  than  externals.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  had  shared  her  thoughts  —  she  raised  her  head 
quickly  at  the  suggestion  as  though  fearing  he 
might  by  some  chance  appear  and  demand  that 
privilege. 

At  that  moment  Jeffrey  went  by  to  answer  a 
ring  at  the  door.  She  sprang  to  her  feet.  It  was 
Dicky  —  earlier  than  he  should  have  come.  She 
resented  this  as  an  intrusion.  She  was  of  half  a 
mind  to  refuse  to  see  him  for  another  hour. 

But  it  turned  out  not  to  be  Dicky,  after  all,  but 
a  messenger  with  a  note  for  her. 

Jeffrey  entered  with  it  on  a  silver  tray  and  she 


JOAN  &  CO.  171 

tore  open  the  yellow  envelope.   She  read  with 
shortened  breath: 


8  Mullen  Court 

New  York  City 
MY  DEAR  Miss  FAIRBURNE  : 

Not  having  seen  Mark  Devons  for  a  couple  of 
days,  I  just  went  upstairs  to  learn  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  He  lives  above  me  in  the  same  house. 
I  found  him  in  bed  and,  against  his  wishes,  sent 
for  a  doctor.  He  seemed  to  be  worried  because  he 
had  not  been  able  to  report  to  you  for  a  couple  of 
days,  so  I'm  taking  a  chance  and  am  doing  it  for 
him.  I  have  a  notion  he  may  be  in  bed  for  some 
time  if  he  does  n't  take  care,  and  so  thought  that 
perhaps  for  business  reasons  you  ought  to  know 
just  how  he  is  situated. 

If  you  wish,  I  could  send  you  a  postal  now  and 
then,  informing  you  how  he  is  getting  on.  In  the 
meanwhile  if  I  can  be  of  any  other  service,  I  trust 
you  will  call  on  me. 

Very  sincerely  yours 

HENRY  ARKWRIGHT 

Joan  summoned  Jeffrey. 

"The  machine,"  she  ordered. 

Then  she  hurried  upstairs  to  Henriette. 

"Get  ready  to  come  out  with  me  at  once." 

She  picked  up  the  telephone  in  her  room  and 


i7i  JOAN  &  CO. 

notified  Dicky,  slipped  into  the  wrap  Henriette 
held  for  her,  and  went  down  to  the  car.  To  Charles 
she  gave  the  order: 

"Eight  Mullen  Court." 

The  information  the  latter  had  lately  acquired 
was  becoming  useful  sooner  than  he  had  expected. 


j 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BEEF  TEA 

OAN  sat  back  in  the  machine  by  the  side  of 
Henriette,  with  a  feeling  of  tenseness  amount- 
ing almost  to  exhilaration.  The  thing  she  was  dar- 
ing thrust,  into  the  background,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, that  for  which  she  dared.  In  coming  at  all 
she  had  acted  impulsively  —  had  obeyed  her  emo- 
tions rather  than  her  intellect.  There  was  nothing 
in  Arkwright's  note  to  justify  the  belief  that 
Devons  was  really  in  any  immediate  need  of  her. 
Rather,  if  the  truth  were  told,  she  had  seized  this 
opportunity  as  an  excuse  for  satisfying  a  certain 
need  in  herself.  She  looked  forward  to  the  possi- 
bility of  actually  making  herself  of  some  use  as  a 
hope  —  a  vague  and  stimulating  hope. 

As  Charles  left  Washington  Square  and  cut 
through  to  Sixth  Avenue,  she  leaned  forward  and, 
with  eyes  out  of  the  window,  stared  at  the  un- 
familiar streets  with  all  the  sensations  of  a  stranger 
in  a  foreign  city.  She  had  only  to  turn  a  little  way 
to  the  right  or  left  off  any  of  the  ordained  avenues 
to  find  herself  in  a  New  York  as  new  to  her  as  Cairo. 
Had  she  been  put  down  alone  here,  it  is  doubtful  if, 
without  much  difficulty,  she  could  have  found  her 
way  home. 


i74  JOAN  &  CO. 

So  they  crossed  beneath  the  Elevated  to  the  hole 
in  the  wall  and  stopped,  as  Henriette,  with  some 
timidity,  exclaimed: 

"But,  Mam'selle  —  Charles,  he  has  made  a 
mistake,  is  it  not?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  Joan. 

Yet  Charles  appeared  confident  enough  as  he 
opened  the  door.  What  lay  on  the  other  side  of 
that  wall  he  did  not  know,  but  he  could  have  taken 
his  oath  it  was  here  that,  not  long  ago,  he  had 
landed  Mr.  Devons. 

He  pointed  to  the  opening. 

"It's  through  there,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,"  nodded  Joan.  "You  may  wait 
for  us."  -:i 

Joan  herself  led  the  way  to  the  courtyard  and 
she  herself  found  the  number  eight  with  her  heart 
in  her  mouth.  There  was  no  bell,  so  she  rapped. 
Mrs.  Roberts,  on  the  first  floor,  came  to  the  door 
and  directed  her  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  Ark- 
wright's  room,  and,  a  moment  later,  she  found 
herself  confronting  the  big  fellow,  somewhat  at  a 
loss  to  explain  intelligently  her  presence  here,  be- 
cause as  yet  she  had  not  explained  it  intelligently 
to  herself.  But  the  moment  she  gave  her  name, 
Arkwright  seemed  to  understand. 

"He'll  be  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  quietly. 

"The  doctor  has  been  here?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Arkwright,  "and  he  said  — 


JOAN  &  CO.  175 

why,  he  said  the  man  has  n't  been  getting  enough 
to  eat." 

"But  why  not?"  she  exclaimed. 

"It's  his  own  fault  —  his  own  bull-headedness. 
If  he  had  only  come  to  me  —  " 

"There  was  no  need  for  him  to  go  to  any  one," 
she  broke  in;  "he  had  money." 

"He  did?" 

"We  —  we  are  interested  in  the  same  business, 
so  I  know,"  she  explained. 

Arkwright  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  give  up  trying  to  find  a  motive,  then.  Per- 
haps he  just  forgot  to  eat.  Anyway,  he  did  not  get 
enough,  and  then  he  caught  cold,  and  then  — 
well,  there  he  is.  Want  to  see  him?" 

She  hesitated.  Then  she  answered  steadily: 

"Yes." 

So  with  Henriette  by  her  side  she  followed 
Arkwright  up  another  flight  and  into  the  little 
room  lighted  with  a  single  gas-jet.  She  had  never 
seen  anything  like  it  in  her  life  outside  a  few  dimly 
remembered  scenes  on  the  stage.  Even  now  as  she 
stood  there  she  felt  as  though  in  some  mad  moment 
she  had  wandered  over  the  footlights.  Then  the 
figure  on  the  bed  lifted  himself  to  his  elbow  and  she 
saw  the  haggard  face  and  the  two  burning  eyes, 
which  she  recognized  as  Devons's  eyes.  Quickly  she 
crossed  to  the  man's  side  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"You?"  he  gasped. 


176  JOAN  &  CO. 

"You  should  have  told  me,"  she  answered. 

"Told  you  what?"  he  demanded. 

Arkwright  stepped  forward  a  moment. 

"It's  all  my  fault,"  he  explained.  "I  sent  her  a 
note." 

Devons  frowned,  and  then  sank  back  wearily. 

"You  should  n't  have  done  that,  Arkwright," 
he  complained. 

"Yes,  yes.  It  was  all  he  could  do,"  put  in  Joan. 
"And  it's  what  you  should  have  done.  I  don't 
understand  why  —  you  are  like  this." 

"It's  only  a  cold.  I'll  be  up  to-morrow." 

Devons  was  glaring  at  Arkwright  again.  The 
latter  retreated  out  of  range. 

"If  you  did  n't  have  enough  money —  " 

"I  had  money  enough,"  he  cut  in. 

"Then  why  did  n't  you  buy  proper  food?" 

"You  don't  think  I'd  waste  the  firm's  money 
on  myself?" 

"Oh,  that  was  it!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  catch 
in  her  voice. 

"If  Arkwright  —  " 

"Don't  blame  him.  There  is  n't  much  use  in 
blaming  any  one  now.  You  must  get  back  your 
strength  again.  We  —  we  must  begin  all  over." 

"I'll  be  up  to-morrow,  I  tell  you.  Why,  that 
machinery  is  waiting  for  me." 

"Yes?  Have  you  been  obeying  the  doctor's  or- 
ders since  he  left?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  177 

"You  are  n't  Nurse  Ware,"  he  objected. 

"I'm  going  to  be  even  more  strict." 

She  turned  back  to  Arkwright. 

"What  instructions  did  the  doctor  leave?" 

Arkwright  glanced  at  his  watch  guiltily. 

"Jove,  it  is  time  for  his  beef  tea.  I'll  go  down 
and  make  it." 

"I'll  make  it  — please." 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  boil  some  water  and 
add  a  cube.  I  —  " 

"Please  show  me  the  range  and  find  the  cubes," 
she  ordered. 

The  range  consisted  of  an  alcohol  stove  and  a 
tin  dipper.  Arkwright  lighted  the  wick  for  her  and 
filled  the  dipper  with  water,  and  placed  the  cubes 
convenient  to  her  hand.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  no  longer  needed  and  he  re- 
treated somewhat  awkwardly  to  the  door.  He  saw 
her  slip  off  her  wrap  as  she  sat  down  before  her 
work.  The  sight  of  her  slim  neck  and  white  arms 
took  away  his  breath;  then  he  met  her  eyes. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  she  murmured,  as  though 
politely  excusing  him. 

"Only  —  only  too  happy,"  he  stammered. 

Devons  in  the  meanwhile  was  closing  his  eyes 
for  a  moment,  then  opening  them  again,  then 
closing  them  again,  because  it  was  only  so  that  he 
could  bring  himself  to  believe  that  she  was  really 
here.  If  he  looked  at  her  steadily  for  any  length  of 


178  JOAN  &  CO. 

time  she  grew  hazy  and  he  felt  there  was  danger  of 
her  disappearing  altogether.  Henriette,  in  the  rear, 
served  in  a  way  as  a  sort  of  anchor,  but  in  the 
shadow  he  could  scarcely  make  her  out.  But  Joan 
was  beneath  the  gas-jet  so  that  if  he  did  not  look 
overlong  he  was  sure  of  her. 

Her  back  was  toward  him  and  he  was  rather 
glad  of  that.  Had  she  faced  him  he  would  not  have 
dared  open  his  eyes  at  all.  For  she  seemed  to  him 
now  even  more  radiantly  beautiful  then  ever  be- 
fore, and  before  there  was  nothing  whatever  beau- 
tiful enough  with  which  to  compare  her.  So  that 
though  he  continued  to  try  to  blame  Arkwright 
for  his  colossal  nerve  in  being  the  direct  means  of 
getting  her  down  here,  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to 
do  consistently,  because  he  was  so  glad  to  have  her 
there. 

And  yet  she  did  not  belong  here.  In  the  midst  of 
his  joy  he  told  himself  that  over  and  over  again. 
The  moment  he  removed  his  eyes  from  her  and 
looked  about  at  her  surroundings  she  made  him 
feel  ashamed.  Every  sordid  detail  grew  more  sor- 
did. The  stark  paper  on  the  walls  and  the  wooden 
chairs  taunted  him.  They  forced  him  into  a  con- 
trast with  the  clean,  good  taste  of  what  she  had 
offered  him  in  her  home.  His  battered  old  dress- 
suit-case  in  the  corner  thrust  itself  forward  as 
though  trying  to  humiliate  him.  And  remembering 
the  dainty  china  upon  which  his  meals  at  her 


JOAN  &  CO.  179 

home  had  been  served,  he  frowned  at  the  tin 
dipper,  before  which  she  sat  watching,  like  a  chem- 
ist, for  some  delicate  reaction. 

Then  he  saw  her  rise  and  remove  the  dipper  of 
steaming  water  and  put  in  the  cube  and  look 
about  for  a  spoon. 

"You'll  have  to  use  a  pencil,"  he  said. 

She  objected  to  so  unprofessional  a  method,  but 
if  he  had  no  spoon  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done.  To-morrow  she  would  come  prepared.  She 
stirred  it  carefully  and  brought  it  to  his  side.  He 
rose  on  his  elbow  and  drank  it  —  as  bitter  and 
unpalatable  a  beverage  as  a  man  could  well  swal- 
low. She  had  forgotten  to  add  salt,  for  one  thing. 
It  tasted  of  tin,  for  another.  It  was  too  hot,  for  a 
third.  But  had  it  been  hemlock  and  she  had  of- 
fered it,  he  would  not  have  hesitated. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  sleep." 

"With  you  here!" 

"Then  I'll  go." 

"Not  yet,"  he  pleaded.  "Do  you  mind  just  — 
sitting  there?" 

She  brought  the  chair  to  his  side  and  sat  down. 

"I  don't  want  to  scold  you  now,"  she  began, 
"but  don't  you  see  how  foolish  you've  been?" 

"There  was  so  much  to  be  done,  all  at  once," 
he  explained. 

"And  you  tried  to  do  it  all  by  yourself." 

"There  was  no  one  else." 


180  JOAN  &  CO. 

"There  was  I.  Why,  I  —  I've  been  doing  noth- 
ing all  this  while." 

"You  did  your,  share  when  you  made  everything 
possible." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't  claim  credit  even  for  that.  But  please 
don't  talk.  Please  —  just  listen." 

So  while  he  lay  there  flat  on  his  back  cursing  to 
himself  the  weakness  that  made  it  necessary,  she 
told  him  of  her  preposterous  plan.  He  would  need 
some  one  in  the  office  as  a  sort  of  bookkeeper,  and 
though  she  did  not  know  very  much  about  book- 
keeping she  could  learn  and  perhaps  could  help  in 
other  ways. 

"For  one  thing,  it  seems  to  be  necessary  for 
some  one  to  make  sure  that  you  take  care  of 
yourself." 

"If  it  had  n't  been  for  this  cold  —  "  he  started 
to  explain. 

"If  you  had  eaten  properly  you  would  n't  have 
caught  cold,"  she  cut  him  off.  "There  is  not  the 
slightest  use  in  the  world  to  argue  about  it." 

He  was  at  a  distinct  disadvantage.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  difficult  to  hold  your  own  in  an  argu- 
ment when  lying  prone  even  if  you  have  all  the 
right  on  your  side.  Again,  though  he  was  trying  his 
level  best  to  appear  normal  there  was  between  his 
eyes  a  pain  so  sharp  that  at  moments  it  made  him 
blind.  Finally,  it  seemed  inevitable  that,  once  she 


JOAN  &  CO.  181 

made  up  her  mind,  she  should  have  her  way  in 
whatever  she  desired.  If  one  were  to  direct  her  at 
all  it  must  be  in  some  earlier  stage.  He  tried  to  go 
back  a  little  to  find  where  he  was  at  fault,  but  that 
involved  too  much  effort. 

Besides,  the  one  big,  white  fact,  that  made 
every  other  fact  appear  petty,  was  that  now,  at 
this  moment,  she  was  here.  Yesterday,  last  night, 
and  all  to-day,  until  Arkwright  had  come  up,  he 
had  lain  here  alone  fretting  over  lost  time  in  a 
fashion  that  threatened  to  double  and  treble  the 
toll  of  wasted  hours.  And  he  had  thought  if  only 
he  could  see  her  for  a  second  —  just  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  passing  on  the  street  —  that  all  the 
strength  would  come  back  into  him. 

"I  think  I  had  better  read  to  you,"  she  decided. 
"Perhaps  it  will  help  you  not  to  think." 

The  only  thing  she  could  find  was  a  textbook  on 
chemistry,  so  she  picked  up  that  and  began  at 
page  one.  It  was  not  very  interesting,  but  that 
was  so  much  the  better.  She  plunged  ahead  in  a 
low  monotone,  and  mispronounced  frightfully 
many  of  the  words  she  met.  But  she  kept  on,  con- 
scious that  his  eyes  were  upon  her.  She  kept  on 
and  on  paying  no  attention  to  the  meaning  of  the 
text  —  kept  on  and  on,  until  she  heard  him  breath- 
ing slowly  and  naturally.  As  soon  as  his  eyes  closed, 
she  stopped  and  waited  a  moment,  ready  to  begin 
again  if  they  opened. 


i8a  JOAN  &  CO. 

Then  she  rose  and  moved  on  tiptoe  to  the  table. 
She  took  the  pencil  and  scribbled  a  note  upon  a 
piece  of  blank  paper  she  found.  It  read  simply: 

I  shall  be  here  at  ten  to-morrow. 

JOAN  FAIRBURNE 

She  slipped  this  into  the  book  and  placed  it  on 
the  chair  near  the  bed.  Then  moving  toward  the 
door  she  beckoned  Henriette  to  follow.  >. 

At  Arkwright's  suite  below,  she  paused  and 
knocked  again. 

"  I  must  leave  him  with  you  now,"  she  announced 
as  he  appeared.  "But  I  shall  be  here  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  is  to  have  his  beef  tea  every  two  hours." 

He  nodded  and  escorted  her  to  the  machine.  He 
watched  it  scoot  away  beneath  the  Elevated  to- 
ward Washington  Square.  ..^>^ 

"Good  Lord!"  he  gasped,  "if  I  thought  any- 
thing like  that  would  run  over  me  I'd  take  a 
chance." , 


D 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PRINCESSES 

EVONS  awoke  at  odd  times  during  the  night, 
and  every  time  he  did  so  Arkwright  got  up 
from  the  chair  where  he  was  sleeping,  lighted  the 
alcohol  lamp  and  brewed  a  tin  dipper  of  beef  tea. 
Devons  protested,  but  Arkwright  only  answered, 
stubbornly: 

"That's  all  right,  old  man.  Only  drink  it.  I  was 
ordered  to  see  that  you  had  this,  so  the  least  said 
the  better." 

Even  after  Devons  consented  to  swallow  the 
stuff,  Arkwright  refused  to  talk,  but  sank  back  in 
his  chair,  stretched  his  long  legs  out  in  front  of 
him,  and  went  to  sleep. 

After  this  had  occurred  twice,  Devons  refused 
to  let  Arkwright  know  when  he  woke  up,  but  lay 
quietly  staring  into  the  dark  at  the  chair,  where  he 
could  have  sworn  she  had  been  sitting,  in  the  early 
evening.  He  found  this  such  a  pleasant  thing  to  do 
that  always  he  went  to  sleep  again.  The  last  time 
he  awoke  it  was  seven  and  broad  daylight.  Ark- 
wright, too,  was  awake  and  saw  him  when  he 
opened  his  eyes.  So  once  again  he  rose  and  made 
for  the  alcohol  lamp. 


184  JOAN  &  CO. 

"If  you  give  me  another  dipper  of  that — " 
began  Devons. 

"It's  her  orders." 

"Whose  orders?" 

"Miss  Fairburne's,"  answered  Arkwright  as  he 
lighted  the  lamp. 

Devons  rose  to  his  elbow. 

"Then  she  was  here!" 

"Of  course,  she  was,  man!  Have  you  been  as 
bad  as  that?" 

"No,  only  —  look  here,  Arkwright,  if  you'll  cut 
out  that  stuff  I'll  eat  an  egg." 

Arkwright  hesitated. 

"I'll  eat  two  eggs,"  Devons  promised. 

"I  don't  know." 

"She  won't  care.  I  know  she  won't.  I'm  feeling 
great  this  morning." 

His  eye  caught  the  note  in  the  book.  He  reached 
for  it  and  read  it.  Then  he  threw  back  the  covers 
and  started  out  of  bed. 

"What  you  going  to  do?"  demanded  Arkwright. 

"  She 's  coming  back ! "  exclaimed  Devons.  "  She  '11 
be  here  at  ten." 

"What  of  it?" 

"She  mustn't,  that's  all.  I  —  I  can't  let  her 
see  this  place  in  the  daylight." 

Arkwright  glanced  about. 

"Does  look  kind  of  rowdy,  now  that  you  speak 
of  it,"  he  admitted. 


JOAN  &  CO.  185 

"So  I  must  get  shaved  and  dressed  and  —  and 
meet  her  downstairs.  I  '11  take  her  to  the  office  — 
anywhere  but  here." 

"Steady,"  warned  Arkwright;  "I'm  not  so  sure 
she  would  like  that.  If  we  dressed  the  place  up  a 
little—" 

"It  can't  be  done,"  groaned  Devons.  "I've  got 
to  get  out  before  she  comes,  I  tell  you." 

"Just  a  minute,  old  man.  I  could  wash  the  win- 
dows, for  one  thing.  I  have  a  rug  or  two  and  some 
pictures,  and  in  my  trunk  some  things  in  the  way 
of  table-covers  my  good  aunt  sent  me.  If  you'll 
just  sit  tight  I  have  a  hunch  quite  a  bit  could  be 
done  in  three  hours.  When  a  lady  makes  an  ap- 
pointment at  a  certain  place,  you  have  to  keep  it, 
that's  all." 

"I  can  telephone." 

"I  don't  think  I  would,"  replied  Arkwright 
thoughtfully.  "I'd  shave  and  eat  my  two  eggs  and 
keep  cool,  and  watch  what  your  Uncle  Dudley  can 
accomplish." 

When  Devons  came  to  stand  up  he  discovered 
that  after  all  he  had  no  other  choice.  His  legs  were 
decidedly  weak.  By  the  time  he  had  shaved  and 
dressed  and  swallowed  the  eggs,  he  was  quite  help- 
less. But  Arkwright  took  off  his  coat  and  went  at 
his  undertaking  like  a  man.  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
he  had  the  place  as  clean  as  soap  and  water  could 
make  it,  and  in  another  half-hour  had  stripped  his 


i86  JOAN  &  CO. 

own  room  of  about  everything  in  the  way  of  rugs 
and  pictures  and  brought  them  up  here.  He  even 
included  his  best  chair  and  an  ottoman  covering 
for  the  bed.  Then  he  stood  back  and  surveyed  his 
handiwork. 

"Eh?"  he  asked  with  considerable  satisfaction. 

For  the  twentieth  time  Devons  exclaimed: 

"It's  darned  good  of  you!" 

"Not  a  mite  of  it,"  answered  Arkwright.  "If 
fairy  princesses  will  call  on  careless  bachelors,  the 
only  decent  way  is  to  make  things  as  respectable 
as  possible.  And  then,"  he  concluded,  glancing  at 
his  watch,  "the  next  proper  thing  is  to  get  out." 

"Look  here,"  protested  Devons,  "there's  no 
need  of  that." 

"Anyway,  I  want  to  smoke." 

"Can't  you  smoke  here?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  declared  Arkwright.  "You  have 
to  make  your  sacrifices  for  princesses.  Good  luck." 

With  that  he  went  out  and  left  Devons  alone, 
whereupon  the  latter  immediately  began  to  be- 
lieve that  she  would  not  come,  anyway.  He  took 
that  stand,  not  because  it  was  what  he  wished  to 
believe,  but,  perversely,  because  it  was  very  much 
what  he  did  not  wish  to  believe.  He  sat  in  a  chair 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door  and  felt  his  heart 
jump  like  a  startled  rabbit  at  every  sound  he 
heard  below.  It  was  disconcerting  how  much  he 
wished  her  to  come.  It  took  him  back  to  those  few 


JOAN  &  CO.  187 

moments  'before  the  open  fire  when  he  had  been 
forced  to  run  in  order  not  to  speak  the  words  that 
surged  up  hotly  clamoring  for  speech.  He  had  been 
glad  ever  since  that  he  had  remained  dumb.  But 
he  knew  that  never  again  would  it  be  as  easy  as  it 
was  then,  though  then  it  had  not  been  easy.  He 
knew  that  every  time  he  saw  her  it  was  going  to 
be  harder.  This  is  why  he  had  kept  away  these  last 
two  weeks  and  confined  himself  merely  to  business 
notes.  He  must  keep  in  mind  always  the  fact  that 
this  was  with  her  purely  a  business  proposition. 
She  and  that  other,  whoever  he  might  be,  were  his 
silent  partners,  that  was  all.  So  they  must  remain 
until  he  had  won  his  success  and  repaid  his  debt 
and  stood  free  and  clear  with  a  bank  account  of 
his  own  big  enough  to  be  worthy  of  her.  When  he 
was  ready  to  take  her  to  Arkwright  and  show  her 
those  blue-prints  —  then,  and  not  until  then, 
would  he  have  any  right  to  speak. 

"You  have  to  make  your  sacrifices  for  prin- 
cesses," Arkwright  had  said  jokingly. 

But  that  was  true  in  a  larger  way  than  Ark- 
wright had  meant. 

At  five  minutes  of  ten  Devons  heard  steps  com- 
ing up  the  stairs.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  tried 
to  stand  steady.  The  steps  paused  at  the  landing 
below  and  then  came  on  again.  They  came  on  to 
his  very  door.  Then  it  seemed  an  eternity  before 
he  heard  the  rap  of  a  gloved  hand. 


188  JOAN  &  CO. 

With  his  heart  in  his  mouth  he  crossed  the  room. 

It  was  she,  Joan,  and  behind  her  Henriette, 
and  behind  Henriette,  Charles  with  a  large  wicker 
basket. 

"You  may  put  that  down  here,"  she  said  to 
Charles,  "and  wait  outside." 

Then  she  turned  and  saw  Devons  where  she  had 
expected  to  see  Arkwright. 

"Why  are  you  up?"  she  demanded  ominously. 

"Because  —  because  I  am  feeling  so  much  bet- 
ter," he  stammered. 

"That  is  the  beef  tea,"  she  decided. 

"It  is  in  spite  of  the  beef  tea,"  he  replied. 
"Please  to  come  in." 

She  turned  to  help  Henriette  with  the  basket, 
and  he  instinctively  made  his  way  past  her  to 
take  the  burden  himself.  And  he  could  not  lift  the 
thing.  Actually  he  could  not.  He  was  obliged  to 
stand  by  and  see  the  two  women  stagger  into  the 
room  with  it.  Humiliated,  he  was  forced  to  watch 
his  princess  do  the  thing  he  should  have  been 
strong  enough  to  do.  It  gave  him  further  proof,  if 
any  were  needed,  that  he  must  keep  his  lips  tight 
closed. 

He  heard  her  exclamation  of  surprise  as  she 
passed  over  the  threshold. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  here?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing  much,"  he  tried  to  answer  carelessly; 
"Arkwright  has  been  fixing  up  a  little." 


JOAN  &  CO  189 

"But  it  is  n't  the  same  room!"  she  exclaimed, 
as  though  in  disappointment.  "It  is  n't  your 
room!" 

"It  does  n't  always  look  as  badly  as  it  did  last 
night." 

"I  liked  it  as  it  was,"  she  insisted.  "Except  you 
should  have  a  spoon,  of  course." 

Now  it  was  Arkwright's  room  —  anybody's 
room.  Half  the  dramatic  contrast  was  gone.  Even 
Devons  himself,  now  that  he  was  shaved  and  up, 
no  longer  made  the  urgent  claim  upon  her  sym- 
pathy that  had  so  roused  her  as  he  lay  prone  and 
unkempt  in  his  bed.  Not  that  she  analyzed  her 
emotions  to  this  extent,  but  she  was  aware  of  a 
certain  disappointment.  It  was  as  though  she  were 
no  longer  needed  quite  as  much  as  she  had  been 
needed  last  night. 

But  that  feeling  passed  when  she  saw  the  man 
totter  a  trifle  as  he  tried  to  keep  his  feet.  She  took 
his  arm  and  led  him  to  a  chair. 

"  I  had  Henriette  pack  a  basket  with  some  things 
I  thought  you  might  need,"  she  explained.  "You 
might  take  them  out,  Henriette." 

Henriette  brought  forth  from  that  basket  a 
linen  tablecloth  with  an  embroidered  "F"  in  one 
corner;  a  collection  of  china  with  which  Devons 
was  familiar;  a  monogrammed  silver  knife,  fork, 
and  spoon;  a  crystal  drinking-glass;  several  alumi- 
num cooking-dishes  which  he  was  sure  the  Fair- 


ipo  JOAN  &  CO. 

burne  chef  would  have  to  account  for  some  day; 
and  then  a  cold  chicken,  some  dainty  biscuits,  a 
box  of  fresh  eggs,  and  several  different  kinds  of 
jellies  and  jams,  and  finally  a  bottle  of  milk. 

"I  didn't  know  whether  you  could  get  fresh 
milk  here  or  not,"  she  explained.  "Dad  has  this 
sent  in  every  day  from  the  country." 

"But  why,"  he  exclaimed,  "should  you  do  this?" 

He  saw  her  cheeks  color. 

"Why  should  n't  I?"  she  challenged. 

"It  has  put  you  to  so  much  trouble." 

"It  hasn't  done  even  that!"  she  exclaimed. 
"But  if  it  had?" 

Then  she  should  not  have  undertaken  it,  is  what 
he  had  meant,  but  he  did  not  say  it.  Instead  he 
said: 

"  If  Charles  is  still  about  he  might  take  us  down 
to  the  factory.  The  machinery  ought  to  be  un- 
packed to-day." 

"Are  you  strong  enough  to  go?" 

"Certainly,"  he  answered  steadily.  "It's  only 
a  matter  of  directing  the  men.  I  arranged  for  two 
of  them  to  come  to-day.  They  are  probably  wait- 
ing for  me." 

She  hesitated.  But  he  rose  and  reached  for  his 
hat. 

"I  must  go,"  he  said  earnestly.  "It  will  save  a 
whole  day.  We  —  we  could  come  back  here  for 
lunch." 


JOAN  &  CO.  191 

"I  told  mother  I  should  need  Charles  until 
evening." 

"Then  come  on,"  he  insisted,  with  something  of 
his  old-time  spirit. 

If  she  had  been  thinking  of  him  alone,  it  would 
have  been  against  her  best  judgment  to  permit 
this,  but  she  was  thinking  also  a  little  bit  of  her- 
self. To  spend  part  of  the  day  with  him  there 
would  be  a  beginning.  At  the  moment  his  thoughts 
were  less  upon  her  than  the  business  in  hand,  so 
that  he  would  be  scarcely  conscious  of  whether 
she  was  about  or  not. 

So  with  a  nod  to  Henriette  to  follow  she  went 
down  the  stairs  with  him  and  to  the  machine.  Five 
minutes  later  they  were  in  the  elevator  leading  to 
the  twelfth  story  and  soon  were  standing  before 
the  door  to  which  he  pointed  proudly.  She  read 
the  inscription  "Devons  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany "  with  a  glow  of  enthusiasm. 

"It  sounds  very  important,"  she  smiled. 

But  it  looked  decidedly  more  like  a  real  business 
from  the  outside  than  it  did  on  the  inside.  Here 
she  found  herself  in  a  large  room  containing  noth- 
ing but  several  large  packing-cases  and  odds  and 
ends  of  smaller  bundles.  These,  like  the  door,  were 
all  marked  impressively,  "Devons  Manufacturing 
Company." 

The  sight  of  them  seemed  to  inspire  Devons. 
They  brought  back  the  color  to  his  cheeks  and 


192  JOAN  &  CO. 

strength  to  his  legs.  He  offered  her  a  seat  upon  one 
of  the  smaller  cases  and  stepped  into  the  next 
office  to  telephone  to  his  men.  When  he  came  back 
he  took  a  jack-knife  from  his  pocket  and  began 
to  cut  the  strings  on  the  bundles.  Instantly  she 
jumped  up. 

"Please  sit  down  and  let  me  undo  them,"  she 
requested. 

"You  may  help,"  he  condescended,  "but  be 
careful  of  the  ones  marked  'glass.'" 

Soon  from  the  chaos  of  excelsior  and  brown 
paper,  measuring-glasses  began  to  appear  and 
large  bottles  containing  mysterious  liquids.  Then, 
when  the  men  appeared,  they  attacked  the  big 
cases.  Even  Henriette  caught  something  of  the 
enthusiasm  and  began  to  pick  up  the  loose  papers 
and  smooth  them  out  and  fold  them. 

But  the  fact  Joan  noticed  was  that  within  half 
an  hour  —  as  soon  as  the  big  mixing-kettles  began 
to  emerge  —  Devons  forgot  she  was  there.  There 
was  not  much  then  left  for  her  to  do.  She  stood 
around  rather  helplessly,  spending  most  of  her 
time  trying  to  keep  from  underfoot.  Often  he 
stood  by  her  side  as  he  gave  his  orders,  but  if  she 
ventured  to  speak  to  him  then  he  only  answered 
vaguely,  "Eh?" 

He  was  Devons  of  the  Devons  Manufacturing 
Company  and  none  else.  He  might  almost  have 
been  stenciled  like  the  boxes  with  that  label.  She 


JOAN  &  CO.  193 

had  planned  not  to  allow  him  to  do  too  much,  but 
she  found  herself  powerless.  He  neither  heard  her 
nor  saw  her. 

So  he  worked  for  two  hours,  and  so  he  might 
have  gone  on  working  until  night  if  left  to  himself. 
It  was  clear  enough  to  her  now  why  at  the  end  of 
ten  days  he  had  been  forced  to  his  bed.  With  a 
smile  of  satisfaction  it  was  clear  enough  to  her 
now  in  just  what  way  she  might  be  useful. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  men  had  stopped  for  lunch, 
but  impatiently  he  had  urged  them  on. 

"I'll  pay  you  double  to  put  this  through,"  he 
promised. 

At  a  little  after  one,  one  of  the  three  big  kettles 
was  in  place  and  the  men  moved  toward  the  second. 
It  was  then  that  Joan  stepped  forward  to  Devons 
and  insisted  upon  being  heard. 

"Come,"  she  said. 

"Eh?" 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Come.  We  must  go  back  to  lunch  now." 

"You  and  Henriette  run  along,"  he  said;  "I'll 
have  something  sent  up." 

"No,  you  must  come  too." 

"But  I  can't!"  he  broke  out  nervously.  "If  I 
get  this  done  to-day  I  can  begin  work  to-morrow." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  keep  on  like  this  you  won't  begin  work 
for  a  month." 


i94  JOAN  &  CO. 

"You  don't  understand." 
"I  do  understand.  Come." 

«T  » 

"Come." 

She  found  his  hat  for  him  and  placed  it  on  his 
head,  while  he  went  on  giving  instructions  to  cover 
the  time  he  would  be  away.  He  glanced  at  his 
watch. 

-,    "I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour,"  he  told  the 
men. 

"I  doubt  if  that  is  quite  accurate,"  she  contra- 
dicted. 

"But,  Joan  —  "  he  began. 

He  had  used  the  name  often  enough  to  himself, 
but  as  it  slipped  from  his  lips  so  unconsciously  the 
sound  of  it  checked  him.  He  met  her  eyes.  She  was 
smiling. 

"Yes?"  she  answered. 

"There  is  so  much  still  to  be  done,"  he  finished. 

"I  know,  but  there  is  to-morrow  and  after  that 
another  to-morrow  and  after  that  —  " 

His  lips  tightened. 

"  It's  those  to-morrows  I  want  to  do  away  with," 
he  replied.  "  I  want  to  get  into  the  now." 

"Come,"  she  repeated. 

Reluctantly  he  followed  her  into  the  elevator 
and  to  the  machine  and  let  himself  be  whisked 
back  to  his  room  —  back  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
day.  It  was  absurd.  Yet  the  moment  he  was  there 


JOAN  &  CO.  195 

he  realized  it  was  well.  He  sank  into  a  chair  quite 
done  up. 

Arkwright  came  up  and  offered  his  apartment 
to  the  ladies  as  a  dressing-room,  and  as  soon  as 
they  went  out  turned  to  Devon s. 

"You  been  at  it  again  so  soon?"  he  demanded. 

"Got  a  bully  start,"  nodded  Devons.  "Ma- 
chinery all  unpacked  and  some  of  it  set  up." 

"You'd  better  go  slow."  Arkwright  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  Then  his  eyes  caught  the  array  upon 
the  table. 

"Some  style,"  he  observed. 

"She  did  it,"  nodded  Devons.  "It's  an  improve- 
ment on  your  darned  old  beef  cubes." 

"Right!  The  doctor  came,  by  the  way,  while 
you  were  gone.  He  allowed  you  were  crazy." 

"Thank  God,  I  was  out.  Tell  him  I'll  see  him  a 
month  from  now.  Stay  to  lunch  with  us?" 

"Thanks,"  answered  Arkwright  thoughtfully. 
"I  don't  think  I  will." 

But  he  remained  a  few  moments  just  to  watch 
Joan  as  she  helped  to  set  the  table.  Had  it  been 
possible  for  him  to  make  himself  invisible  he 
would  have  liked  to  stay  longer,  but  as  he  weighed 
two  hundred  pounds  there  seemed  to  be  no  prac- 
ticable way  for  him  to  accomplish  this,  so  he 
backed  out. 

He  should  have  remained  and  seen  how  deftly 
Henriette  mastered  the  same  problem.  To  be  sure, 


196  JOAN  &  CO. 

she  had  some  advantage  in  the  matter  of  size,  but 
this  was  partly  offset  by  the  fact  that  she  served 
as  waitress,  though  there  was  not  very  much  for 
her  to  do,  except  to  make  a  cup  of  tea  for  her  mis- 
tress. Everything  was  so  compact  and  convenient 
here  that  really  it  would  have  been  possible  to  do 
away  with  servants  altogether. 

It  was  no  time  before  Devons  forgot  she  was  in 
the  room.  Only  Joan  was  here  —  opposite  him.  It 
might  be  said  with  equal  truth  that  in  no  time  he 
forgot  there  was  any  one  else  in  the  world  but 
Joan.  Yet  there  were  quite  a  number  of  other 
persons  in  the  world.  In  this  city  alone  there  were 
some  four  million.  One  had  only  to  refer  to  any 
book  of  statistics. 

He  was  aware  of  her  eyes  and  her  smile  and  the 
dainty  curves  of  her  fingers  as  she  lifted  the  tea- 
cup to  her  lips,  and  looking  at  these  it  was  almost 
as  though  the  to-morrows  had  really  gone  and  the 
Now  was  here.  It  was  rather  a  dangerous  delusion 
to  labor  under.  To  enjoy  it  fully  he  was  forced  to 
watch  himself  carefully. 

This  was  difficult  because  with  her  the  tempta- 
tion always  was  to  speak  from  within  as  one 
thought  —  to  talk  direct  to  the  center  of  her  big, 
clear  eyes.  But  if  he  had  done  that,  there  were 
moments  when  he  would  have  leaned  across  the 
table  and  said  to  her: 

"I  love  you." 


JOAN  &  CO.  197 

He  would  have  said  no  more.  Just  that  — 
bluntly. 

But  he  had  no  right  to  say  that.  It  took  away 
his  breath  every  time  he  thought  of  it  and  left  him 
white  about  the  lips.  It  was  at  one  of  these  mo- 
ments, after  they  had  finished  their  lunch  and 
Henriette  had  cleared  away  all  the  things  and  they 
were  just  sitting  on,  that  she  suddenly  rose. 

"You  must  rest,"  she  said.  "You  look  tired.  I 
don't  think  you  had  better  go  back  to  the  factory 
to-day." 

"But—" 

"No,"  she  insisted  firmly;  "I  will  stop  there 
with  Henriette  on  my  way  home  and  tell  the  men 
to  go  for  the  day.  I  shall  lock  the  door  and  take  the 
key." 

"Then,"  he  asked  helplessly,  "how  shall  I  get 
in  to-morrow?" 

"  I  will  be  there  at  nine  and  unlock  the  door  for 
you,"  she  smiled. 

And  before  he  fully  recovered,  she  went  out  and 
left  him  sitting  alone  like  a  blind  man  who  has  had 
his  cane  removed. 


B 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  FASTER  GAME 

URNETT  SENIOR  sat  in  his  office  leaning 
forward  in  his  chair  and  drumming  nervously 
on  the  desk.  Every  now  and  then  he  glanced  at  his 
watch,  then  uncertainly  toward  the  hat-rack,  and 
then  with  an  effort  turned  to  the  letters  in  front  of 
him.  But  in  the  end  he  always  found  himself  again 
drumming  nervously  on  his  desk. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  and  the  Stock  Exchange 
had  been  open  for  an  hour.  Already  he  had  twice 
rung  up  the  office  of  Toole  &  Co.  and  received  the 
report  that  the  market  was  strong  and  the  trading 
brisk.  Apparently  it  was  going  as  yesterday  Toole 
had  predicted  it  would.  Already  several  issues  in 
which  he  was  interested  had  advanced  from  a 
quarter  to  a  half.  Figuring  roughly  it  made  a 
difference  of  four  hundred  dollars  to  him  in  that 
first  hour.  This  was  not  much  compared  to  the 
profit  he  had  taken  last  week  on  steel  of  five 
thousand,  but  one  never  knew  what  the  next  ten 
minutes  might  bring  forth.  That  was  what  made 
the  game  interesting.  There  was  no  waiting  for 
monthly  statements  or  semi-annual  balances. 
There  was  no  sitting  around  for  the  maturing  of 
carefully  thought-out  plans.  It  was  possible  to  do 


JOAN  &  CO.  199 

a  year's  business  in  a  week;  sometimes  in  a  day; 
sometimes  in  an  hour.  Even  if  a  man  invested  only 
in  a  small  way,  as  he  was  doing,  it  added  zest  to  life. 

Until  a  few  weeks  ago  he  had  never  been  inside 
a  broker's  office.  Forsythe  had  then  introduced 
him  to  his  friend  Benton,  and  it  was  through  the 
latter  that  he  had  bought  steel  and  through  him 
had  sold  it  again  —  clearing  up  in  a  month  the 
amount  he  had  loaned  Dicky.  He  liked  the  idea. 
It  left  Dicky  free  to  lose  the  money  as  soon  as  he 
wished.  A  day  or  so  later  Benton  had  taken  him 
down  to  the  Street  one  noon  hour  and  introduced 
him  to  Toole.  A  very  agreeable  man  Toole  was. 
He  was  a  big  fellow,  physically,  with  pleasant 
manners.  They  had  lunched  together  not  long 
after  this  —  rather  heartily.  Toole  had  offices 
overlooking  the  street  —  pleasant  offices.  Burnett 
had  sat  around  there  for  an  hour  watching  the 
board  and  listening  to  the  odds  and  ends  of  gossip 
that  circulated  through  the  little  gathering.  He 
had  gone  several  times  since  then.  In  a  good  many 
ways  he  found  it  a  relief  from  the  routine  of  his 
own  office.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  tension 
there  which  was  stimulating. 

If,  at  the  beginning,  he  had  felt  the  slightest  bit 
uncomfortable,  like  a  man  visiting  for  the  first 
time  a  race-track,  he  had  partly  quieted  his  con- 
science by  the  thought  that  after  all  he  was  playing 
with  his  own  hard-earned  money,  and  that  win  or 


aoo  JOAN  &  CO. 

lose  he  was  entitled  at  his  age  to  a  little  amuse- 
ment. With  his  own  business  running  as  smoothly 
as  it  now  did  under  Forsythe,  there  was  every  day 
less  and  less  need  of  him  in  the  office.  If  Dicky 
were  about  it  might  be  different.  Then  he  would 
have  had  as  his  ambition  the  training  of  the  boy. 
There  were  certain  plans  for  extension  —  the  for- 
eign field,  for  instance,  was  almost  untouched  — 
which  with  Dicky's  help  might  have  acted  as  a 
fresh  spur  to  effort.  But  if  the  lad  had  no  taste  for 
such  schemes,  why,  that  was  the  end  of  the  matter. 
Projects  of  that  sort  were  for  Youth  —  Youth 
with  the  long  years  ahead.  He  himself,  lately, 
craved  a  faster  game.  And  in  a  sense  that  desire 
went  back  to  Dicky  too. 

The  day  the  boy  had  told  him  of  his  princess, 
Burnett  had  begun  an  inventory  of  his  estate.  The 
result  had  left  him  thinking.  As  long  as  he  looked 
at  it  only  from  his  own  point  of  view,  it  was  satis- 
factory enough.  He  had  his  business  which  on  the 
basis  of  its  earning  power  represented  a  value  of 
two  hundred  thousand;  he  had  his  house  worth  in 
the  neighborhood  of  seventy-five  thousand;  and 
he  had  a  surplus  in  various  sound  securities  worth 
around  seventy-five  thousand.  Besides  this  he 
kept  an  account  of  forty  or  fifty  thousand  in  cash. 
Considering  the  fact  that  he  had  started  writh 
nothing,  this  was  a  good  deal  to  have  accomplished 
in  thirty  years.  If  at  twenty-one  he  could  have 


JOAN  &  CO.  201 

looked  forward  to  any  such  reward  he  would  have 
felt  fully  satisfied. 

And  yet,  as  Dicky  talked,  four  hundred  thou- 
sand seemed  little  enough.  It  was,  of  course,  all  a 
matter  of  comparison,  and  Burnett  knew  that  most 
of  the  boy's  friends  belonged  to  families  who  reck- 
oned their  fortunes  in  millions.  And  he  was  proud 
that  Dicky  had  been  able  to  make  such  friends. 
He  was  proud,  too,  that  although  his  own  fortune 
was  so  much  less,  it  had  always  been  sufficient  to 
allow  the  boy  within  reason  to  hold  his  own  among 
the  others.  In  college  he  had  always  had  the  best. 
Since  then  there  had  been  enough  so  that  he  could 
still  follow  his  fancy.  If  at  this  point  Burnett 
winced  a  trifle,  it  was  when  he  was  alone.  He  must 
remember  that  it  was  only  natural  that  circum- 
stances should  make  a  big  difference  in  the  point 
of  view.  In  fact  that  was  just  what  was  happening 
to  himself. 

Burnett  had  looked  up  these  Fairburnes,  and 
what  he  learned  made  his  own  little  fortune  sink 
to  insignificance.  And  it  helped  him  to  understand 
what  Dicky  meant  when  he  said,  "I  don't  know 
what  you  can  get  her  that  she  has  n't  already." 
Burnett  had  four  hundred  thousand  to  hand  over 
to  his  son,  and  Fairburne  could  match  every  fifty 
thousand  with  a  million  for  his  daughter. 

Even  Toole,  so  he  understood,  could  match  him 
two  for  one  and  had  made  this  on  the  Street  within 


202  JOAN  &  CO. 

ten  years.  And  Toole  told  him  of  others.  At  odd 
times  and  quite  incidentally  the  talk  had  run  to 
fortunes  made  quickly.  It  was  always  an  interest- 
ing topic  and  Toole  had  a  fund  of  such  stories. 

"Why,  I  had  an  office  boy,"  he  said  one  day,  as 
he  offered  Burnett  a  cigar,  "a  little  chap  by  the 
name  of  Windsor.  The  rascal  saved  some  five 
hundred  dollars  from  his  wages  and  began  to 
trade  on  margins.  He  got  a  tip  somehow  on  R  and 
M,  bought,  and  began  to  pyramid.  He  cleaned  up 
ten  thousand  on  that  deal  and  jumped  into  a  curb 
oil  stock.  The  stuff  advanced  from  five  to  forty  in 
two  months,  and  he  came  out  of  that  with  a 
profit  of  seventy  thousand.  He  quit  me  then,  but 
I'm  told  that  to-day  he  is  worth  three  million." 

Three  million  in  five  years!  And  he,  Burnett, 
had  sweat  blood  to  roll  up  a  paltry  four  hundred 
thousand  in  thirty  years!  It  was  merely  a  matter 
of  comparison. 

Yet  Burnett  did  not  lose  his  head  altogether. 
That  thirty  years  of  business  experience  counted 
for  something.  Once  back  in  his  office  again  he 
was  able  to  smile  at  many  of  those  stories.  But  as  a 
result  of  them  he  worked  out  this  scheme :  he  would 
take  that  fifty  thousand  and  fool  with  it  —  merely 
fool  with  it.  If  he  lost,  well  and  good.  At  least  he 
would  have  had  some  entertainment.  He  would 
pay  for  that  and  quit.  Certainly  that  amount 
would  not  break  him. 


JOAN  &  CO.  203 

On  the  other  hand,  if  he  won!  Here  was  where 
he  let  his  imagination  loose.  Windsor,  a  mere 
office  boy,  had  made  three  million  out  of  five 
hundred.  It  was  elementary  arithmetic  to  figure 
what  the  youngster  might  have  done  had  he 
started  with  one  hundred  times  that  capital.  Dis- 
counting the  story  fifty  per  cent  and  admitting 
that  such  a  case  was  one  in  a  thousand,  a  man  was 
still  left  an  ample  margin  for  day-dreaming. 

Supposing  that  when  it  came  time  for  Dicky  to 
marry  the  girl,  Fairburne  should  send  for  him  and 
somewhat  scornfully  demand  what  prospects  he 
had  to  justify  such  a  course.  There  was  not  much 
doubt  but  that  Fairburne  would  take  the  pre- 
caution to  look  up  the  Burnett  rating  in  Dun  and 
Bradstreet,  just  as  Burnett  had  looked  up  the 
Fairburne  rating.  He  would  find  him  in  the  quarter- 
million  class.  Dicky  probably  would  be  consid- 
erably disconcerted  and  doubtless  indignant  as 
well.  He  might  even  consider  the  question  beside 
the  point,  though  he  himself  had  admitted  that 
she  deserved  a  fortune.  At  any  rate,  the  boy  would 
have  to  come  back  for  information,  because  he  did 
not  know  any  more  about  the  family  finances  than 
a  stranger.  He  had  never  asked.  He  had  never 
shown  the  slightest  interest. 

So  some  day  he  would  stroll  into  the  office  and 
repeat  the  question.  He  might  quote  Fairburne  in 
some  such  statement  as  — 


204  JOAN  &  CO. 

"What  is  a  paltry  quarter-million  for  a  Fair- 
burne?" 

Then  Burnett  senior  would  smile.  He  would 
reach  to  one  of  the  cubby-holes  in  his  desk  and 
take  out  his  account-book  with  Toole  &  Co.  He 
would  hand  it  to  Dicky.  It  might  show  one  million, 
or  two  million,  or  three  million.  It  depended  a  good 
deal  on  his  mood  how  much  he  made  it.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  always  enough  to  satisfy  Fairburne. 

"Go  back  and  tell  Fairburne  that  Dun  and 
Bradstreet  don't  always  know  everything,"  he 
might  say. 

And  Dicky  would  get  up  and  slap  him  on  the 
shoulder,  with  his  face  alight.  Possibly  he  might  in 
some  good-natured  way  rebuke  him. 

"You  deserved  to  lose  for  taking  any  such  fool 
chance.  But  it's  one  on  Fairburne." 

But  the  boy's  face  would  be  alight.  That  was  all 
the  reward  he  wanted. 

Burnett  senior  stopped  drumming  on  his  desk 
and  pressed  a  button,  summoning  Forsythe.  The 
latter  responded  instantly.  He  was  as  alert  as  elec- 
tricity. He  came  in  with  a  pencil  behind  his  ear 
and  his  hand  full  of  papers. 

"I'm  going  out  for  a  little  while,  Forsythe," 
explained  Burnett,  without  looking  at  the  man. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Anything  you  want  to  see  me  about?" 

"No,  Mr.  Burnett." 


JOAN  &  CO.  205 

4"I  don't  know  when  I'll  get  back,  but  if  you 
want  me,  telephone  Toole  &  Co.  I  may  drop  in 
there  a  little  while." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Forsythe. 

"And  if  my  son  comes  in  —  just  say  I  '11  be  back 
soon.  You  —  er  —  you  need  n't  say  where  I  am." 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered.  "But  I'll  call  you  up  if 
he  seems  too  curious." 

"Right,  Forsythe." 

Burnett  waited  until  Forsythe  left  before  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat.  Then  when  he  did  go  out, 
he  appeared  more  or  less  apprehensive  until  he 
was  clear  of  the  building. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  CONFESSION 

IT  was  obvious  to  Joan  that  it  was  no  more 
than  fair  and  right  that  her  mother  should 
know  what  she  had  undertaken,  and  yet,  secure  as 
she  was  in  her  own  mind,  it  was  both  a  difficult 
and  unpleasant  thing  to  talk  about  with  her.  The 
latter  was  sure  to  misunderstand  —  possibly  to 
misinterpret.  In  either  case  she  would  object  and 
that  meant  acting  against  her  wishes. 

She  did  not  want  to  do  that.  It  was  against  her 
instincts.  All  her  life  she  had  been  so  obedient 
that  even  to-day  she  felt  in  her  mother's  presence 
like  the  school-girl  with  braided  hair.  It  was  so, 
she  was  convinced,  her  mother  saw  her.  That  was 
the  trouble.  That  explained  the  gulf  that  during 
these  last  few  years  had  widened  between  them. 
Her  mother  expected  her  still  to  think  and  act 
like  a  school-girl  —  like  a  grown-up  school-girl,  to 
be  sure,  but  nevertheless  as  one  not  yet  entitled 
to  decide  for  herself.  That  privilege  would  not  be 
granted  until  after  marriage,  and  then  only  to  a 
limited  degree.  After  being  a  dutiful  daughter  she 
must  be  a  dutiful  wife.  It  seems  that  her  duty 
must  always  lie  to  some  one  else  rather  than 
herself. 


JOAN  &  CO.  207 

In  the  present  instance,  then,  she  was  proposing 
to  act  from  a  purely  selfish  motive.  That  was  the 
logical  deduction.  In  undertaking  to  give  her  time 
and  thought  to  the  Devons  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany she  was  actuated,  then,  by  no  other  desire 
than  to  develop  her  own  soul  by  enlarging  her  life 
through  service?  It  was  a  fair  question  and  she 
put  it  to  herself.  But  it  turned  out  to  be  rather  a 
confusing  question.  Certainly  her  original  idea  had 
been  nothing  more  than  this.  Here  was  a  fellow 
human  being  struggling  alone,  and  she  had  stepped 
in  and  in  her  limited  way  had  done  what  she  could 
to  help  him.  That  help  was  still  needed  and  the  joy 
of  the  enterprise  lay  in  that  fact.  Her  joy  lay  in 
that  fact.  To  that  extent  she  was  selfish.  But  some- 
how that  did  not  account  for  all  her  emotions. 
The  way  she  disposed  of  these,  however,  was 
merely  to  hold  her  head  a  little  higher  and  chal- 
lenge her  conscience,  or  whatever  it  was,  to  ex- 
plain why  she  was  under  any  obligation  to  account 
for  them  at  all.  She  had  some  rights  of  her  own. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  that  Joan  went  to  her 
mother  as  soon  as  the  latter  came  in  from  an  after- 
noon of  bridge.  Mrs.  Fairburne  furnished  her  the 
opportunity  by  inquiring: 

"You  lunched  with  Mr.  Burnett  to-day?" 

"No,"  Joan  replied  without  equivocation,  "I 
lunched  with  Mr.  Devons." 

"Devons?" 


208  JOAN  &  CO. 

The  eyebrows  went  up  and  the  mouth  became 
set. 

"Yes,  Mother.  He  —  he  has  been  ill.  I  took 
Henriette  and  went  down  there  with  some  proper 
food  for  him." 

"Down  where?" 

"To  Mullen  Court." 

"I  am  not  familiar  with  Mullen  Court,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Fairburne  in  a  tone  that  suggested 
this  was  something  to  be  thankful  for. 

"No,  Mother,  dear,"  Joan  replied  steadily.  "It 
is  not  far  from  Washington  Square." 

"One  of  those  artist  places?"  she  asked  sus- 
piciously. 

"I  — I  don't  know." 

"  Yet  you  — " 

"Please,  Mother,"  broke  in  Joan,  "will  you  let 
me  tell  you  in  my  own  way?" 

Mrs.  Fairburne  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Go  on,"  she  submitted  resignedly. 

"A  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Arkwright,  wrote  me  he 
was  ill,  so  I  had  Charles  drive  us  down.  I  found 
him  in  a  little  room  —  oh,  a  pitiful  little  room  at 
the  top  of  the  house.  He  was  ill  for  lack  of  food.  I 
had  Pierre  pack  a  basket  and  I  took  it  to  him." 

"But  did  that  necessitate  your  stopping  for 
lunch?" 

Joan  crimsoned. 

"  I  stopped  because  I  wished  to." 


JOAN  &  CO.  209 

"Joan!" 

"Because  I  had  business  with  him." 

Mrs.  Fairburne  started  from  her  chair. 

"Please  —  just  a  minute,  Mother.  I  want  to 
tell  you  everything.  It  is  your  right  to  know  what 
I've  done  and  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I  told  you 
once  how  he  needed  money  to  start  in  business." 

Mrs  .  Fairburne  admitted  this  with  an  expres- 
sion of  annoyance. 

"I  asked  you  to  help  and  you  did  not  approve." 

"Certainly  not." 

"So  I  told  Dicky  and  he  gave  me  the  money." 

"You  asked  Mr.  Burnett  for  money?" 

"He  was  very  nice,"  nodded  Joan.  "He  gave 
me  five  thousand  dollars." 

"Joan  —  are  you  losing  your  mind!" 

"  I  wanted  to  take  it  as  a  loan,  but  he  would  not 
consent  to  that.  So  he  came  into  the  business  with 
us  as  a  silent  partner.  Now  we  are  all  ready  to 
start.  And,"  she  concluded  rather  hurriedly,  "I'm 
going  to  keep  the  books." 

Mrs.  Fairburne  had  difficulty  for  a  second  or 
two  in  catching  her  breath.  It  was  while  she  was 
in  this  helpless  condition  that  Joan  moved  swiftly 
to  her  side  and  put  an  arm  around  her. 

"Mother,  dear,"  she  pleaded.  "I  know  how 
strange  this  all  sounds  to  you.  But  I  'm  in  earnest. 
I  want  something  to  do  and  here  is  my  chance. 
I've  wanted  something  to  do  ever  since  I  came 


2io  JOAN  &  CO. 

home  from  college.  If  you  had  known  Mildred  and 
heard  all  she  did  —  " 

The  mother  looked  up. 

"You  are  such  a  child,"  she  murmured. 

Joan  met  her  mother's  eyes. 

"Not  any  longer,"  she  answered.  "That  is  the 
trouble,  is  n't  it?  You  forget  I  have  grown  up." 

There  was  something  about  the  girl's  mouth 
that  told  her  this  was  the  truth.  But  it  frightened 
her.  She  roused  herself. 

"Joan,  dear,  what  you  propose  is  impossible.  It 
would  break  your  father's  heart  if  he  heard.  You 
must  put  the  whole  Quixotic  plan  out  of  your 
head.  We  —  we  will  take  a  little  trip  to  the  South 
or  Bermuda  —  " 

"No,  Mother,"  she  put  in  gently.  "As  for  Dad  — 
is  there  any  reason  why  he  should  know  if  it  is 
going  to  disturb  him?" 

"He  would  never  forgive  you  —  never  forgive 
me." 

"Why  should  he  feel  like  that?" 

"The  whole  idea  is  so  unusual." 

"With  thousands  of  girls  working  for  their 
living?" 

"But  they —  they  are  not  Fairburnes." 

"No  —  they  are  not  Fairburnes.  But  I  don't  like 
to  think  they  are  better  than  Fairburnes,  Mother." 

"Joan— I  really  think  I  should  call  Dr. 
Nichols!" 


JOAN  &  CO.  211 

"Nonsense.  Now  you  come  up  to  your  room  and 
get  ready  for  dinner.  I  'm  sure  that  by  to-morrow 
you  will  look  at  it  differently." 

"Will  you  call  Louise?" 

"Let  me  help  you  —  please." 

Mrs.  Fairburne  took  her  daughter's  arm  and 
allowed  herself  to  be  helped  to  her  room.  And  once 
there  Joan  was  still  reluctant  to  summon  Louise. 

"Let  me  do  your  hair  to-night,"  she  pleaded. 

So  she  unfastened  her  mother's  hair  and  let  it 
down  over  her  shoulders  and  combed  out  the  fine 
strands  that  were  beginning  to  show  silver. 

"It  is  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Joan. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  SALE 

THE  thing  Devons  had  evolved  was  a  patent- 
leather  finish  at  least  fifty  per  cent  less  liable 
to  crack  than  any  on  the  market,  produced  at  four 
fifths  the  cost  of  the  Burnett  product.  But  it  was 
one  thing  to  claim  this  and  another  to  prove  or 
even  to  get  a  chance  to  prove  it.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  he  had  enough  to  allow  a  manufacturer  to 
give  it  a  fair  trial.  Armed  with  letters  he  had  from 
his  professors  at  Tech  —  letters  intended  for  the 
benefit  of  teaching  staffs  rather  than  business  men 
—  he  left  Joan  in  charge  of  the  office  one  day,  look- 
ing very  important  with  this  new  responsibility, 
and  crossed  the  city  in  search  of  the  manager  of 
the  Doggett  Shoe  Company.  He  waited  two  hours 
in  an  outer  office  after  filling  out  the  slip  giving  his 
name  and  business,  and  when  finally  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  A.  E.  Hartley  found  the  man  still 
too  busy  even  to  glance  up  from  his  desk  as  he 
entered.  It  was  not  an  encouraging  reception,  and 
Devons  had  not  had  sufficient  experience  to  accept 
the  situation  calmly.  He  had  ventured  forth  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  he  expected  to  find  reflected 
in  every  one  he  met,  without  stopping  to  consider 
that  this  was  rather  an  unreasonable  presumption 


JOAN  &  CO.  213 

in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  world  at  large  knew 
as  yet  nothing  about  the  Devons  process,  and  prob- 
ably if  informed  would  care  scarcely  more.  The 
case  of  Hartley,  however,  was  different.  He  should 
have  been  immediately  interested,  though,  per- 
haps, it  was  not  fair  to  expect  him  to  get  excited 
before  he  heard  of  it. 

Devons  studied  the  man  behind  the  desk  —  a 
man  of  fifty  with  a  square,  non-committal  face. 
He  had  a  short,  iron-gray  mustache  and  a  square 
jaw,  a  sharp  nose  and  well-set  eyes.  With  his  head 
on  his  hand  he  was  figuring  rapidly.  Finally  he 
pressed  a  button,  to  which  a  boy  responded  in- 
stantly. With  a  quick,  nervous  movement  he 
handed  the  lad  a  sheet  of  paper  with  the  single 
word: 

"Henderson." 

Then  he  looked  up  at  Devons. 

"Well?"  he  inquired,  as  though  resenting  the 
interruption. 

Devons  felt  his  heart  leap  to  his  mouth.  He  was 
as  excited  as  he  had  been  when  he  stepped  before 
the  examiners  for  his  oral  examination. 

"I  understand  you  use  considerable  patent 
leather  in  your  factory." 

"Yes." 

"I  have  perfected  a  new  process  —  " 

"Not  interested!"  snapped  Hartley. 

Devons  flushed. 


2i4  JOAN  &  CO. 

"You  won't  even  let  me  tell  you  about  it?" 

Hartley,  who  had  started  about  his  work,  looked 
up  again.  There  was  a  note  of  such  deep  disap- 
pointment in  Devons's  voice  that  his  attention 
was  attracted  once  more.  It  was  quite  evident  that 
he  was  not  dealing  with  the  professional  salesman. 

"Who  do  you  represent?"  asked  Hartley. 

"Myself." 

"If  your  time  is  valuable,  let  me  tell  you  this: 
we  purchase  our  entire  supply  of  the  Burnett 
people." 

"Yes,  sir.  All  I  was  going  to  ask  was  that  you 
give  my  process  a  trial." 

"We  have  no  time  to  experiment." 

"The  experimenting  has  been  all  done.  I  have 
some  letters  —  " 

Fumbling  in  his  pocket  Devons  produced  them. 
Hartley  indifferently  unfolded  the  first. 

"Tech?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Devons  named  his  class. 

As  it  happened,  Hartley  had  preceded  him  at 
the  same  institution  fifteen  years  before.  He  had 
been  under  this  same  professor  who  testified  as  to 
Devons's  ability. 

"Bring  up  a  chair  and  sit  down,"  Hartley  in- 
vited him  as  he  finished  the  letter. 

Devons  hastily  complied. 

"Now,  tell  me  about  it." 


JOAN  &  CO.  215 

Hartley  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  the  tips  of  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  matched  against  the  tips 
of  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand.  He  listened  with- 
out comment  of  any  kind  as  Devons  began  at  the 
beginning  and  sketched  his  early  laboratory  work 
leading  him  to  his  later  task. 

"I  saw  that  the  older  the  oil  the  more  perfect 
the  result.  It  seemed  that  some  change  took  place 
in  the  maturing  process.  I  experimented  to  dis- 
cover what  that  was  and  found  out.  Then  I  de- 
vised a  way  of  maturing  the  oil  more  rapidly  and 
more  completely.  This  allows  the  skin  to  absorb 
more  of  it.  That's  all." 

"That's  enough,"  smiled  Hartley,  "if  you've 
done  it." 

"You  mean  you  doubt  it?" 

"  I  admit  I  'm  skeptical.  My,  boy  I  Ve  looked 
into  at  least  fifty  such  claims  personally.  I've 
spent  at  least  twenty  thousand  dollars  right  here 
trying  to  achieve  that  result.  Burnett  has  spent 
five  times  as  much,  and  every  manufacturer  of 
patent  leather  in  the  country  an  equal  amount.  An 
uncrackable  patent  leather  has  been  the  dream  of 
manufacturers  from  the  first." 

"I  don't  claim  it  is  absolutely  uncrackable." 

"Merely  fifty  per  cent  better,"  nodded  Hartley. 
"It  is  well  to  be  modest.  If  you  could  show  me 
something  only  ten  per  cent  more  pliable  I  should 
feel  repaid." 


ai6  J.OAN  &  CO. 

"I  can,"  declared  Devons.  "Will  you  give  it  a 
trial?" 

Hartley  considered  a  moment. 

"State  just  what  your  proposition  is,"  he  said 
cautiously. 

"That  you  let  me  furnish  enough  of  the  dressing 
for  your  test." 

"You  are  not  asking  for  a  contract  of  any  sort?" 

"If  the  process  makes  good,  that  won't  be  nec- 
essary, will  it?" 

"No,"  admitted  Hartley,  "if  the  price  is  right." 

"I  have  n't  worked  that  out  carefully  yet,  but 
I  figure  it  should  be  less  than  the  present  pro- 
duct." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  exclaimed  Hartley : "  how  do  you 
get  that  result?" 

"Less  oil,"  answered  Devons. 

Hartley  shook  his  head  skeptically. 

"Send  it  on,"  he  concluded;  "but  frankly  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"Carlow,  Reed  &  Co.  tested  it." 

"Then  why  did  n't  they  buy  it?" 

"They  were  afraid  of  Burnett,"  Devons  an- 
swered. 

He  had  the  letter  with  him  and  handed  it  to 
Hartley.  The  latter  read  it  through  carefully  and 
returned  it. 

"Well,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Burnett,"  was  his 
comment.  "Send  the  stuff  down  to-morrow." 


JOAN  &  CO.  217 

"I'll  have  it  here  tonight,"  answered  Devons. 
"Good-day." 

"Good  luck,  my  boy,"  answered  Hartley. 

Not  counting  the  wait  the  interview  had  not 
lasted  ten  minutes.  When  Devons  came  out  on 
the  street  again  he  drew  a  long  breath.  If  he  had 
seen  a  taxi  at  that  moment  he  would  have  been 
tempted  to  get  in.  Any  other  way  of  getting  back 
to  Joan  with  such  news  as  this  seemed  clumsy  and 
tedious. 

But  if  he  had  only  known  it,  Joan  herself  had 
not  been  idle  in  the  meanwhile.  She  had  done 
quite  an  unexpected  and  brilliant  stroke  of  busi- 
ness on  her  own  account.  Devons  had  not  been 
gone  from  the  office  a  half-hour  before  the  door 
opened  and  a  middle-aged  man  entered,  glanced 
around,  caught  sight  of  her,  and  removed  his  hat. 
His  hair  was  swept  back  from  his  forehead  as 
though  he  were  facing  a  strong  wind. 

"  It  said  Devons  Manufacturing  Company  upon 
the  door,"  he  explained,  as  though  to  account  for 
having  entered  so  unceremoniously. 

"This  is  the  Devons  Manufacturing  Company," 
she  assured  him. 

The  chemicals  and  kettles  bore  out  the  state- 
ment which,  considering  the  young  woman  herself, 
he  would  still  have  been  inclined  to  doubt.  Either 
she  was  out  of  place  here  or  the  kettles  were. 

"Is  Mr.  Devons  in?" 


218  JOAN  &  CO. 

"No,"  answered  Joan.  "He  may  be  gone  several 
hours." 

Forsythe  studied  his  watch  a  moment,  and  then 
raised  his  eyes  and  studied  the  girl  another  moment. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  ventured  as  though  feeling  his 
way;  "I  wanted  particularly  to  see  him  this 
morning." 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  inquired  Joan. 

"I  don't  know,"  smiled  Forsythe.  "May  I  ask 
if  you  are  associated  with  the  business?" 

"I'm  the  bookkeeper,"  she  announced. 

"I  see.  Then  you  are  in  charge  of  the  plant?" 

"Until  Mr.  Devons  returns,"  she  admitted  with 
a  trace  of  color. 

"Perhaps,  then,  you  will  do  quite  as  well," 
suggested  Forsythe.  "All  I  wanted  was  to  inquire 
a  little  more  fully  into  his  product.  I  wonder  if  you 
yourself  are  posted  enough  to  tell  me." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  it  except 
that  it  is  very  wonderful.  If  you  could  come  back 
this  afternoon,  I'm  sure  he'll  be  in  then." 

Forsythe  shook  his  head. 

"I  only  have  an  hour." 

He  turned  eagerly  once  more  toward  the  labo- 
ratory end  of  the  office. 

"He  makes  it  over  there,"  Joan  informed  him. 

"I  see." 

He  stepped  nearer,  and  Joan  sensed  his  un- 
spoken question. 


JOAN  &  CO.  219 

"If  you're  interested,  you  might  look  about," 
she  suggested  graciously. 

He  took  advantage  of  her  offer  instantly. 

"Thanks.  I  will." 

He  appeared  to  be  very  much  interested  in 
every  detail,  even  to  the  extent  of  investigating  all 
the  labeled  bottles  of  chemicals  and  some  that 
were  not  labeled.  He  removed  the  corks  from 
these  and  smelled  the  contents,  and  once  even 
poured  some  out  into  a  graduating  glass  and  held 
it  to  the  light.  Occasionally  he  asked  her  a  ques- 
tion, but  without  any  very  satisfactory  results. 

So  he  came  to  several  jugs  of  the  finished  pro- 
duct, and  this  appeared  to  interest  him  most  of 
all. 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  as  yet  he  is  ready  to  put 
this  on  the  market?"  he  inquired. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  answered  quickly;  "that  is 
just  exactly  what  he  is  doing.  He  has  gone  to-day 
to  try  to  sell  the  little  he  has  ready." 

"This?"  inquired  Forsythe. 

She  nodded. 

"There  is  n't  very  much  of  it.  We  have  only 
just  started." 

Forsythe  straightened. 

"Then  if  he  had  happened  to  be  in  I  could  have 
bought  some  myself,"  he  said.  "I  only  want 
enough  to  give  it  a  trial." 

"Can't  you  come  again?" 


220  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Possibly.  But  there  is  nothing  like  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  present.  If  you  could  let  me  have  — 
say  this  much." 

He  held  up  a  jug. 

"But  I  have  n't  the  slightest  idea  how  much  he 
asks  for  it." 

"I'm  in  the  business  myself,  so  I  can  tell  you 
roughly.  Ten  dollars  would  be  an  extravagant 
price.  But  for  safety's  sake  I'll  double  that." 

She  met  the  man's  eyes.  She  had  no  reason  for 
doubting  his  word. 

"If  you  are  quite  sure,  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  n't  have  it,"  she  replied. 

"I'm  quite  sure  my  price  is  right,"  he  an- 
swered. "If  Mr.  Devons  can  sustain  it  his  fortune 
is  made." 

"Oh,  you  think  so?" 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  he  nodded  gravely. 

Then  he  took  a  wallet  from  his  pocket  and  pre- 
sented her  with  two  ten-dollar  bills. 

"I  pay  cash,"  he  said. 

She  accepted  the  bills  eagerly. 

Then  with  a  smile  Forsythe  picked  up  his  jug 
and  went  out  leaving  her  staring  a  little  breath- 
lessly at  the  money.  It  was  the  first  cash  trans- 
action made  by  the  Devons  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany. 

She  hurried  to  her  desk  in  the  corner  and  opened 
a  brand-new  ledger  book  which  she  had  bought 


JOAN  &  CO.  221 

only  the  day  before.  In  her  very  best  handwriting 
she  made  this  entry: 

"  By  one  jug  dressing  $20.00  " 

She  wished  there  were  some  way  she  could  reach 
Devons  by  telephone.  It  was  difficult  to  wait  for 
him  with  such  news  as  this.; 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NO  TIME  TO  WASTE 

DEVONS  reached  the  office  shortly  after 
twelve  and  swung  open  the  door  with  the 
announcement: 

"I  did  it." 

Thereby  he  beat  Joan  by  at  least  ten  seconds, 
which  is  a  wide  margin  when  one  stops  to  consider 
that  races  are  often  won  by  the  fraction  of  a  second. 
She  had  sprung  from  her  seat  behind  the  ledger  as 
she  heard  his  foqtsteps  in  the  corridor,  but  he  was 
so  enthusiastically  abrupt  that  it  took  her  a  few 
seconds  longer  to  recover  her  balance.  In  his  ex- 
citement he  had  seized  her  hand  and  that  somehow 
or  other  only  added  to  her  confusion. 

"Hartley  was  all  against  it  at  first,"  he  ran  on. 
"But  before  I  left  he  agreed  to  give  it  a  thor- 
ough trial.  I  'm  to  take  down  to  him  to-day  what 
I  have  in  stock." 

"What  you  have  in  stock,"  she  replied  vaguely, 
with  a  sudden  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"There's  just  about  enough  for  a  preliminary 
trial,"  he  answered.  "It's  a  great  chance,  Joan. 
This  company  is  one  of  the  largest  users  in  the  city, 
and  if  I  make  good  with  them  —  well,  I  won't 
have  to  sit  in  any  more  outer  offices." 


JOAN  &  CO.  223 

"How  much  did  you  have?"  she  stammered. 

"About  four  gallons.  But — what's  the  matter?" 

"I  — I  sold  some  of  it." 

"Sold  some?" 

She  went  back  to  her  desk  and  returned  with  the 
two  ten-dollar  bills.  Her  fingers  were  unsteady  as 
she  held  them  out  to  him. 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded. 

"It's  what  he  —  he  paid  me." 

"Who?  For  what?" 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  trembling  back  from  the 
look  in  his  eyes.  "Did  I  do  wrong?" 

"  I  don't  understand  yet  just  what  you  did  do,"  he 
answered  with  a  swift  glance  around  the  laboratory. 

He  took  her  arm  gently  and  led  her  to  her  chair 
behind  the  desk. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.  "Now  —  you  didn't  sell 
any  of  the  enamel?" 

"All  that  was  in  the  jug,"  she  nodded. 

She  pointed  to  the  ledger.  He  saw  the  entry  in 
her  firm  handwriting.  Even  then  he  was  not  fully 
convinced,  but  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  pause  a 
moment  before  he  went  on.  He  tried  his  best  to 
hold  himself  steady  because  she  looked  so  fright- 
ened —  so  frightened  and  so  adorable.  Even  in  the 
midst  of  the  worst  he  feared  he  could  have  stooped 
and  kissed  the  top  of  her  head  and  called  it  square 
—  if  in  that  way  matters  could  honestly  have  been 
squared. 


224  JOAN  &  CO. 

.  "Tell  me  from  the  beginning  what  happened," 
he  said. 

"He  —  he  came  in  —  " 

"Who  came  in?" 

"I  don't  knowwho  he  was.  He  wan  ted  to  see  you." 

"Can  you  describe  him?" 

Ordinarily  she  could,  but  she  was  finding  it  diffi- 
cult to  think. 

"He  was  a  man  about  forty.  His  hair  was  brushed 
back." 

"He  was  rather  stout  and  smooth-shaven?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  uncanny  how  from  so  vague  a  description 
the  picture  of  Forsythe  stood  out  before  him. 

"Go  on,"  he  urged. 

"He  —  he  wanted  to  look  around,  so  I  let  him." 

Devons  leaned  back  against  the  desk  and  gripped 
the  edge  of  it  with  his  fingers. 

"Go  on,"  he  repeated. 

"He  went  over  there  and  seemed  very  much 
interested.  Then  —  then  he  wanted  to  buy  some  — 
for  a  test.  He  offered  me  this." 

She  held  out  the  bills  again  as  though  going  back 
to  them  for  justification. 

"He  —  he  went  away  with  what  you  sold  him?" 

She  nodded.  Then  she  leaned  forward. 

"Oh!  Did  I  make  a  mistake?  Should  n't  I  have 
let  him  have  it?" 

Devons  was  trying  to  think  it  out.  If  it  had  been 


JOAN  &  CO.  225 

any  one  else  but  Forsythe,  it  would  not  have  been 
so  significant.  But  he  had  never  liked  the  man  from 
his  first  interview  with  him.  That,  however,  was 
not  important  one  way  or  the  other,  except  as  it 
might  help  explain  the  present  incident.  Of  course, 
no  decent  man  would  have  taken  advantage  of  a 
woman  like  this  to  pry  into  laboratory  secrets,  so 
it  seemed  a  fair  deduction  that  he  intended  nothing 
legitimate  with  the  enamel  he  had  made  off  with. 
Yet,  looking  at  it  calmly,  what  was  it  possible  for 
the  fellow  to  do?  The  process  was  amply  protected 
by  patents.  Against  an  unscrupulous  man,  how- 
ever, patents  sometimes  do  not  count. 

She  was  looking  up  anxiously. 

"I  made  a  mistake?"  she  trembled. 

Then  Devons  took  hold  of  himself.  He  stepped 
free  of  the  desk  and,  looking  down  into  her  eyes, 
answered  with  a  smile. 

"It  makes  it  a  bit  awkward  about  Hartley, 
that's  all,"  he  said.  "But  you  couldn't  foresee 
that.  And  you  sure  charged  a  good  stiff  price." 

"You  think  it  was  enough?" 

"Little  woman,"  he  answered,  "if  we  can  get 
that  price  for  all  I  make  we'll  pay  dividends 
within  a  month." 

The  expression  of  relief  that  came  into  her  eyes 
was  worth  something. 

"I  was  afraid.  You  —  you  frightened  me,"  she 
said. 


226  JOAN  &  CO. 

"  I  had  no  business  to  do  that  under  any  circum- 
stances," he  answered.  "So  let's  take  our  twenty 
dollars  and  go  out  to  lunch  and  forget  the  whole 
episode." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  must  n't  lunch  with  your  bookkeeper  and 
you  must  n't  be  extravagant  with  the  first  money 
the  firm  has  made,"  she  objected. 

"But  this  is  an  especial  occasion.  Can't  we  cele-s 
brate  a  little?" 

"No,"  she  answered  firmly. 

"You  aren't  a  bookkeeper,  anyway,"  he  ob- 
jected. "You're  a  partner." 

"Not  during  office  hours." 

"Then  I'll  give  you  an  afternoon  off.  Will  that 
make  it  right?" 

"Not  for  me  to  lunch  with  you,  but  if  you  don't 
need  me  I  —  I  think  I  'd  like  to  go  home  for  the 
rest  of  the  day." 

"You're  tired?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"From  all  the  business  I've  done?"  she  smiled. 
"No,  it  was  rather  exciting,  but  that  is  n't  the 
reason.  Mother  telephoned.  I  don't  think  she  is 
quite  used  to  my  new  position  yet." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  he  answered.  "I'm  not  either." 

"But  I  help  a  little?"  she  asked. 

"A  lot,"  he  hastened  to  assure  her. 

"You  could  n't  go  off  and  leave  the  office  alone, 
could  you?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  227 

"Impossible." 

"Then- 

"I  could  n't  get  along  without  you,"  he  broke  in. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  turned  quickly  to  put  on  her  hat  and  coat. 
It  was  just  as  well.  It  gave  Devons  time  to  think 
and  so  to  check  himself. 

"Is  Charles  coming  down?" 

"At  one,"  she  nodded. 

It  was  now  five  minutes  of  one,  so  he  went  down- 
stairs with  her  to  the  waiting  limousine  and  helped 
her  in.  She  turned  before  the  door  closed  to  ask : 

"You're  going  to  lunch  now?" 

"Soon,"  he  nodded. 

"I'll  be  here  at  nine  to-morrow,"  she  assured 
him. 

He  stood  on  the  walk  until  the  machine  dis- 
appeared from  sight.  Then,  turning  quickly,  he 
hurried  back  to  the  office.  He  locked  the  door  and 
threw  off  his  coat.  He  had  no  time  to  waste  on  food. 
If  he  was  to  deliver  the  proper  quantity  of  enamel 
to  Hartley  by  to-morrow,  he  had  his  work  cut  out 
for  him,  not  only  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  the 
whole  night.  If  everything  went  right  he  could  do 
it  in  eighteen  hours.  Everything  must  go  right.  To 
a  man  like  Hartley  a  promise  was  a  promise. 

Devons  strode  to  the  rear  of  the  laboratory  and 
turned  on  the  electric  switch  that  heated  the  big 
kettles. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  VACATION 

DICKY  BURNETT  left  about  the  middle  of 
March  for  Palm  Beach.  It  was  his  father's 
suggestion,  and  Dicky  fell  in  with-it  principally 
because  it  would  give  him  a  legitimate  excuse  for 
writing  to  Joan.  If  he  could  not  see  her,  he  had 
much  better  be  a  thousand  miles  away  than  in  the 
same  city.  It  would  be  less  of  a  strain.  Of  late  he 
had  been  doing  nothing  but  search  the  crowds 
for  her  like  a  private  detective  hunting  for  a  lost 
person. 

In  the  office  he  was  impossible.  He  was  in  fact  a 
good  deal  of  a  nuisance  both  to  Forsythe  and  his 
father.  He  particularly  interfered  unconsciously 
with  the  latter's  freedom  of  movement.  By  degrees 
Burnett  senior  had  turned  over  to  Forsythe  prac- 
tically all  his  own  work  because  of  lack  of  time  to 
attend  to  it  himself.  In  many  ways  his  habits 
resembled  a  good  deal  those  of  his  son.  He  still 
reached  the  office  early,  but  he  was  out  again  by 
ten  and  seldom  returned  until  after  three.  By  then 
he  was  too  tired  to  do  much  more  than  attend  to 
the  routine  matters  requiring  his  signature. 

At  Palm  Beach  Dicky  did  his  best  to  enjoy  him- 
self, and  every  one,  including  the  hotel  manage- 


JOAN  &  CO.  229 

ment,  did  his  best  to  help  him.  He  ran  across  Diblee, 
who  introduced  him  at  the  country  club,  and  a 
group  of  very  agreeable  people  who  were  succeeding 
extraordinarily  well  in  forgetting  that  such  a  city  as 
New  York  existed.  As  far  as  he  could  judge,  noth- 
ing in  particular  remained  in  their  consciousness 
but  blue  sky  and  palm  trees  and  green  grass  and 
music  and  pleasant  drinks  and  laughing  eyes. 
There  was  one  especially  nice  girl  whose  name  was 
Constance  —  Constance  Shirley.  She  was  slight 
and  young  and  seemed  to  divine  at  once  his  un- 
happiness.  She  had  big  blue  eyes  and  danced  like 
a  bit  of  thistledown,  and  was  always  seeking  the 
air  after  each  dance.  And  she  had  a  way  of  tempt- 
ing a  man  to  talk  of  what  was  deep  within  him  at 
such  times  because  she  gave  the  impression  that 
she  would  understand.  Not  only  understand  but 
comfort  a  fellow.  It  was  surprising  how  often  her 
soft  hand  accidentally  brushed  his  and  what  op- 
portunities she  offered  him  to  talk  of  matters  of 
sentiment. 

Yet  always  at  the  speaking  point  Dicky  paused. 
It  seemed  like  sacrilege  to  discuss  Joan,  even  in- 
directly, with  any  other  woman.  With  her  always 
uppermost  in  his  mind  it  seemed  like  sacrilege  to 
discuss  even  abstract  problems  of  sentiment.  So 
generally  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  drifted  into 
silence  by  the  side  of  this  Constance,  staring 
dreamily  and  alone  at  the  wonderful  Southern 


230  JOAN  &  CO. 

night  sky  which  is  as  fickle  in  its  sentiment  as  a 
rondeau  of  Francois  Villon.  It  urges  a  youth  to 
love  with  the  nearest.  Love  is  love  and  a  man  but 
a  man  and  woman  but  a  woman.  If  tender  lips 
and  warm  hands  are  near,  a  man  is  a  fool  to  ignore 
them,  for  life  at  best  is  short  and  youth  but  a  brief 
portion  of  life. 

Yet  Dicky  always  paused  even  when  the  nights 
were  fairest.  The  girl  by  his  side  was  baffled  and 
stung  and  made  eager  by  those  long  silences. 
Covertly  she  studied  the  sadness  about  his  lips 
which  came  to  her  like  a  challenge. 

One  night  she  said  to  him  boldly,  "Mr.  Burnett, 
I  think  you  're  in  love." 

He  was  startled,  but  he  answered  only,  "So?" 

"Are  you?"  she  insisted. 

"  I  '11  leave  you  to  guess,"  he  replied. 

"I  guess  you  are." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  are  sad." 

"Does  love  make  one  sad?"  he  asked. 

"Either  very  happy  or  very  sad." 

"Perhaps  both,"  he  suggested. 

"At  the  same  time?"  she  laughed. 

"It  does  sound  absurd,"  he  admitted. 

But  that  night,  when  in  relief  he  found  himself 
back  alone  in  his  room,  that  seemed  as  fair  an 
analysis  of  his  present  mood  as  any.  As  miserable 
as  he  was  he  would  not,  as  the  price  of  happiness, 


JOAN  &  CO.  231 

have  surrendered  his  love  for  Joan.  Hopeless  as 
now  he  felt  that  passion  to  be,  he  clung  to  it  as  the 
greatest  joy  in  his  life.  So  he  felt  he  always  would. 

He  had  telephoned  her  before  he  left  and  asked 
to  see  her,  but  she  had  answered  that  it  was  im- 
possible that  morning. 

"I  may  have  some  good  news  for  you  soon,"  she 
said. 

When  he  pressed  her  for  an  explanation,  it 
turned  out  to  be  nothing  but  good  news  concern- 
ing that  fool  business  scheme  of  hers.  It  only 
emphasized  how  lightly  she  thought  of  him. 

She  had  written  twice  since  then  —  the  sort  of 
letters  one  might  expect  from  a  private  secretary. 
He  had  written  at  least  a  dozen  times  —  the  sort 
of  letters  that  might  be  expected  to  make  a  private 
secretary's  cheeks  burn.  Yet  he  doubted  if  they 
accomplished  even  that  much. 

In  this  fashion,  then,  he  frittered  away  a  month 
without  improving  either  his  physical  condition, 
which  did  not  need  improving,  or  his  mental  con- 
dition, which  did.  At  this  point  he  received  a  letter 
from  his  mother  which  further  disturbed  him.  She 
ran  on  for  a  couple  of  pages  about  nothing  in  par- 
ticular, like  warning  him  again  to  be  careful  not  to 
get  drowned  if  he  went  in  bathing,  and  then  said : 

" I'm  a  little  bit  worried  about  your  father.  He 
is  not  sleeping  well  and  is  losing  weight.  He  blames 
it  on  his  diet  and  I  wondered  if  perhaps  he  was  not 


232  JOAN  &  CO. 

carrying  it  too  far.  He  is  very  apt  to  do  that  unless 
some  one  watches  him.  If  you  wrote  him  that  he 
might,  under  the  circumstances,  eat  a  little  pastry, 
I  think  it  might  help  him.  However,  use  your  own 
judgment.  He  won't  weigh  himself,  but  I  am  sure 
he  has  lost  at  least  fifteen  pounds  since  you 
went." 

When  Dicky  read  that  he  sent  the  following 
wire  to  his  father: 

Don't  overdo  the  thing.  Have  some  pumpkin 
pie. 

But  in  spite  of  this  action  he  was  not  fully  satis- 
fied. All  through  the  rest  of  the  day  he  kept  think- 
ing over  that  paragraph  in  his  mother's  letter. 
While  diet  might  account  for  his  father's  loss  of 
weight,  which  was  good  for  him,  it  did  not  account 
for  his  sleeplessness.  That  was  more  apt  to  be 
caused  by  worry.  This  helped  him  to  recall  several 
peculiar  incidents  which  had  occurred  preceding 
his  departure,  when  he  had  not  found  his  father  in 
the  office  and  had  received  anything  but  a  satis- 
factory explanation  from  Forsythe.  At  the  time  he 
had  not  thought  much  about  these  things,  because 
at  night  he  found  his  father  so  normal  that  he 
always  forgot  to  inquire  further  into  them.  But 
now  that  he  was  in  search  of  symptoms  he  went 
back  to  them. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  he  said  good- 


JOAN  &  CO.  233 

bye  to  Constance  that  evening  —  a  curiously  easy 
thing  to  do  —  and  took  the  train  the  next  morning 
for  home.  He  reached  New  York  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  and  went  direct  to 
the  house,  where  he  found  his  father  at  dinner.  He 
was  startled  by  what  a  month  had  done  for  him. 
Offhand  he  would  have  said  the  man  had  lost 
twenty-five  pounds  and  taken  on  almost  as  many 
years.  His  eyes  looked  heavy,  and  he  sat  listlessly 
at  the  table  as  Dicky  came  in.  He  tried  to  rouse 
himself,  however,  but  it  was  manifestly  an  artificial 
attempt. 

"What  the  deuce  you  been  doing  to  yourself?" 
demanded  Dicky  as  he  took  his  hand.  By  the  side 
of  his  lean,  browned  son  he  looked  worse  than  ever 
and  was  conscious  of  it. 

"I  guess  I  ought  to  have  gone  with  you,"  he 
faltered. 

"I  should  say  so,"  nodded  Dicky.  "What's  he 
been  up  to,  Mother?" 

"I'm  afraid  he's  been  working  too  hard,"  she 
ventured. 

"Hang  it  all,  I  thought  you  were  old  enough  to 
be  left  alone,"  exclaimed  Dicky. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  growled  Burnett 
with  a  trace  of  his  old-time  spirit. 

"We  won't,"  answered  Dicky;  "but  believe  me, 
we're  going  to  do  something  about  it.  You've  got 
to  get  out  of  that  office  more.  Golf  is  what  you 


234  JOAN  &  CO. 

need.  I  saw  a  lot  of  the  old  boys  down  there  on  the 
links  and  it  put  new  life  into  them." 

"Golf  be  hanged." 

Once  or  twice  before  Dicky  had  threatened  golf, 
and  everything  considered  it  appeared  a  worse 
punishment  than  whole  wheat  bread. 

"In  the  meanwhile,  until  the  links  are  opened, 
we  can  get  into  condition  by  walking  home  every 
day.  We'll  begin  to-morrow." 

"Eh?" 

"To-morrow.  What's  the  earliest  you  can  leave 
the  office?" 

"Not  until  after  three,"  exclaimed  Burnett 
nervously. 

"I'll  be  there  at  half-past,  then," declared  Dicky. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DANGER 

"rpORSYTHE  found  awaiting  him  one  morning 
J7  two  letters  which  afforded  him  anything  but 
pleasant  reading.  One  was  from  Hartley,  brief  and 
to  the  point: 

Doggett  Shoe  Company 

New  York,  N.Y.,  April  3  — 

BURNETT  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK,  N.Y. 
DEAR  FORSYTHE: 

I  beg,  herewith,  to  cancel  our  order  for  all  future 
deliveries  of  enamel  leather  dressing. 
Sincerely  yours 

E.  A.  HARTLEY 

The  other  was  from  Craig,  chief  consulting 
chemist  of  the  firm.  It  was  a  detailed  analysis  of 
sample  number  8472,  forwarded  on  March  8th. 
The  most  significant  line  was  this : 

"The  oil  used  appears  to  have  undergone  some 
process  impossible  to  analyze,  which  makes  it 
particularly  adaptable  for  this  type  of  work." 

It  was  a  process  of  manufacture,  then,  rather 
than  any  concrete  formula.  As  such  it  lay  beyond 


236  JOAN  &  CO. 

the  scope  of  Craig's  keen  eyes  and  laboratory 
equipment. 

Forsythe  leaned  forward,  opened  a  little  drawer 
in  his  desk,  and  took  out  a  sample  of  enamel 
leather.  He  studied  the  smooth,  glossy  surface, 
crushed  it  in  his  hand,  and  studied  it  again.  He 
twisted  it  around  his  finger  and  studied  it  further. 
It  remained  exactly  as  before.  It  was  the  finest  bit 
of  enamel  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  it.  He  had  to  face  that  fact  —  and 
many  others. 

The  best  organization  in  the  world  could  not 
buck  any  such  superior  article  as  that  in  the  open 
market.  That  is  —  by  any  ordinary  method.  But 
an  extraordinary  situation  called  for  extraordinary 
methods.  Here  is  where  Forsythe  sat  back  in  his 
chair  and  squinted  at  the  bit  of  leather  on  his 
desk. 

The  future  of  the  Burnett  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany was  at  stake,  which  was  not  so  important  as 
the  fact  that  this  involved  Forsythe's  own  future. 
He  had  put  in  here,  not  only  the  best  end  of  his 
life,  but  his  money.  Only  last  January  Burnett  had 
sold  him  a  small  portion  of  the  capital  stock  as  a 
reward  for  his  faithful  services  —  stock  that  could 
not  have  been  bought  in  the  open  market  at  any 
price.  And  that  had  not  been  the  end  of  his  plan. 
He  had  expected  to  buy  more  later  —  a  great  deal 
more  later.  He  was  prepared,  if  at  any  time  Burnett 


JOAN  &  CO.  237 

should  need  money  badly,  to  buy  as  much  more  as 
he  wished  to  sell. 

If  Burnett  should  need  money  badly  —  there 
was  the  nub  of  his  far-sighted  scheme.  It  explained 
his  motive  in  having  introduced  young  Benton, 
of  Toole  &  Co.,  to  Burnett  —  Benton,  who  had 
furnished  the  inside  information  that  had  netted 
Burnett  five  thousand  in  steel  on  his  first  venture 
in  stocks.  If  Forsythe  had  observed  Burnett  cor- 
rectly for  twenty  years,  that  was  the  spark  which 
would  kindle  the  flame.  The  man  was  disappointed 
in  his  son  and  craved,  to  offset  this,  some  more 
exciting  game  than  the  conduct  of  a  business  that 
was  running  itself.  So  Forsythe  had  urged  and  so  it 
appeared  to  be  working  out.  He  had  heard  that 
Burnett  had  been  plunging  more  and  more  heavily 
this  last  month.  The  latter  had  hit  it  right  once  or 
twice,  but  give  him  time  and  he  was  bound  to  lose. 
Now  this  young  whipper-snapper  of  a  Devons  had 
come  along. 

Forsythe  caught  his  breath.  This  new  complica- 
tion completely  altered  the  situation.  If  on  top  of 
Devons,  Burnett  went  broke,  he  would  drag  down 
with  him  the  whole  business  and  every  one  con- 
nected with  it.  The  only  possible  avenue  of  escape 
now  was  to  buy  out  this  new-comer.  That  would 
take  money.  It  might  take  a  lot  of  money.  Every 
day  he  waited  it  would  take  more.  This  letter  from 
Hartley  was  but  the  beginning. 


238  JOAN  &  CO. 

Again  Forsythe  squinted  at  the  ceiling.  Only  two 
courses  were  open;  either  he  must  buy  out  Devons, 
or  break  him.  That  was  easier  said  than  done.  So 
was  everything  for  that  matter.  What  the  deuce 
had  that  girl  been  doing  in  Devons's  office?  She  did 
not  belong  there.  She  had  called  herself  a  book- 
keeper, but  she  was  no  more  a  bookkeeper  than  she 
was  an  office  boy.  Whoever  she  was  she  did  not 
belong  there,  and  when  a  woman  is  where  she 
does  n't  belong  there  are  always  interesting  possi- 
bilities. Forsythe  had  never  seen  her  before,  but 
she  was  of  a  type  with  which  the  society  columns 
of  the  Sunday  papers  had  made  him  more  or  less 
familiar.  There  was  something  about  her  nose  and 
mouth  and  the  poise  of  her  head  which  placed  her 
there. 

But  this  Devons  had  come  out  of  the  West. 
Was  he  some  modern  Lochinvar? 

Forsythe  turned  to  the  telephone  and  called  up 
his  friend  Moran,  of  the  "New  York  Journal." 

"  If  you  are  n't  busy  come  down  to  the  office," 
he  said. 

"What's  new?"  questioned  Moran. 

"Nothing  much.  I  may  be  able  to  give  you  a  line 
on  a  good  story." 

"Right,"  replied  Moran;  "I'll  be  there  in  half 
an  hour." 

He  was  acting  on  a  slim  chance,  to  be  sure,  but 
at  least  Moran  would  find  out  for  him  who  the 


JOAN  &  CO.  239 

girl  was.  If  she  turned  out  to  be  no  one,  that  at 
least  would  throw  some  further  light  on  Devons. 

The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  get  hold  of  Burnett. 
Here  was  an  even  more  difficult  problem.  He  must 
find  some  way  of  working  him  out  of  the  very 
danger  he  had  led  him  into.  Burnett's  danger  was 
now  his  own  danger. 

Moran  came  in  with  a  cheerful  expectancy  that 
irritated  Forsythe.  He  selected  a  chair,  lighted  a 
cigarette,  shoved  back  his  hat  a  trifle,  and  inquired : 

"What's  on  your  mind?" 

It  produced  on  Forsythe  the  same  effect  as  the 
solicitous  inquiry  of  an  undertaker  as  to  one's 
health.  This  time,  however,  Moran  had  the  ad- 
vantage. He  had  been  sent  for. 

"Nothing  very  much,"  answered  Forsythe 
cautiously,  —  "only  —  well,  my  curiosity  has  been 
aroused,  and  I  thought  you  might  satisfy  it  and 
at  the  same  time  get  a  lead  you  could  use  your- 
self." 

"Let  'er  go." 

"I  have  a  young  friend  who  has  just  started  in 
business.  I  drifted  into  his  office  the  other  day  and 
met  his  bookkeeper.  I  want  to  find  out  who  she  is." 

"Then  what?" 

"That's  all,"  admitted  Forsythe.  "She  does  n't 
belong  there.  Looks  to  me  as  though  she  belonged 
somewhere  along  Fifth  Avenue  instead  of  in  a  loft 
building." 


240  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Society  girl?" 

"Possibly." 

"Pretty?" 

"All  of  that." 

Moran  nodded. 

"Sometimes  they  are  all  of  that  and  live  off 
Sixth  Avenue." 

"  Sometimes,  but  I  '11  bet  a  dollar  to  a  doughnut 
this  one  does  n't." 

"What's  the  address?" 

Forsythe  supplied  it.  Then  he  leaned  forward. 

"  See  here,  Moran  —  if  you  dig  up  anything,  I 
want  you  to  come  back  to  me  first." 

"I  get  you." 

"I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"I've  no  objection,"  answered  Moran,  "but 
honest  it  does  n't  sound  to  me  like  very  hot 
stuif." 

"I'm  not  saying  it  is.  But  —  have  a  smoke?" 

Forsythe  drew  a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Moran.  The  latter  took  it  automati- 
cally and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

"I  wish  you  could  get  after  that  to-day." 

"I'll  drop  around  some  time  this  morning," 
agreed  Moran. 

Forsythe  saw  young  Burnett  pass  the  door  with 
his  father  and  rose  abruptly. 

Dicky  came  in  a  few  moments  after  Moran  had 
left. 


JOAN  &  CO.  241 

"How's  everything?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

"I  did  n't  know  you  were  back,  Mr.  Burnett," 
replied  Forsythe. 

"Blew  in  yesterday.  Any  mail?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

Forsythe  glanced  toward  the  private  office  of 
Burnett  senior.  The  door  was  closed.  He  had  never 
considered  Burnett  junior  as  of  being  of  any  pos- 
sible use  in  this  crisis,  but  suddenly  an  idea  came 
to  him.  It  might  be  that  the  easiest  way  to  reach 
the  father  was  through  the  son.  Dicky  had  moved 
to  his  desk  and  was  carelessly  poking  about  among 
the  various  trade  circulars  which  Forsythe  always 
tossed  over  there  after  he  read  them. 

"Have  you  noticed  any  change  in  your  father 
since  you  went  away?"  began  Forsythe. 

"He's  lost  weight,"  nodded  Dicky. 

"  It  seemed  so  to  me." 

"Been  working  too  hard." 

"You  think  so?" 

Dicky  glanced  up. 

"What  else?" 

"He  has  n't  had  as  much  as  usual  to  do  here," 
answered  Forsythe. 

"Eh?" 

"I've  tried  to  take  as  much  as  possible  off  his 
hands,  but  he's  been  out  of  the  office  a  good  deal 
for  the  last  month." 

"Out  of  the  office?" 


242  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Leaves  here  sometimes  at  ten  and  does  n't  get 
back  until  three." 

Instead  of  looking  surprised,  as  Forsythe  ex- 
pected, Dicky  sat  down  in  the  chair  before  his 
desk  and  appeared  uninterested.  The  reason  for 
that  was  that  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  discussing 
his  father's  affairs  with  his  office  manager.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  was  considerably  disturbed. 

"Those  are  stock-brokers'  hours,"  suggested 
Forsythe. 

"So?" 

"I've  been  wondering —  " 

Dicky  looked  up,  and  Forsythe  paused. 

"Of  course,  in  a  way  it  is  n't  any  of  my  busi- 
ness," Forsythe  explained. 

Dicky  nodded  as  though  agreeing  fully  with 
that  statement.  Forsythe  flushed. 

"But  in  another  way  it  is,"  he  went  on. 

"How?" 

"Your  father  was  good  enough  to  allow  me  to 
buy  a  small  block  of  capital  stock." 

"I  did  n't  know  that." 

"So  we're  partners  in  a  sense." 

Dicky  frowned. 

"In  this  particular  business.  But  what  has  that 
to  do  with  my  father's  personal  affairs  outside  of 
this  business?" 

"This,"  replied  Forsythe  with  more  spirit; 
"we're  up  against  a  new  kind  of  competition  that 


JOAN  &  CO.  243 

may  call  for  a  good  deal  of  extra  capital  in  the 
next  few  months.  If  your  father  drops  too  much 
on  the  Street  — 

"You  know  that  he  has  been  dropping  a  good 
deal  on  the  Street?"  interrupted  Dicky. 

"I  know  he  has  been  putting  in  most  of  his  time 
down  there,  and  I  know  he's  only  a  lamb  at  the 
game." 

"This  competition  you  speak  of?"  inquired 
Dicky. 

Forsythe  reached  into  his  desk  drawer  again 
and  pulled  out  the  sample  of  enameled  leather  he 
had  lately  been  examining. 

"Look  at  that!" 

Dicky  took  it  in  his  hands  and  felt  of  it.  "Well  ? " 

"It's  the  best  thing  that  has  come  on  the  mar- 
ket in  ten  years,  that's  all,"  explained  Forsythe. 
"We've  got  to  meet  it  or  go  out  of  business." 

"How  do  you  propose  to  meet  it?" 

"Buy  the  process  if  possible.  If  we  can't  do 
that  —  " 

"Yes?" 

"We'll  have  to  think  up  some  other  way." 

"What  other  way?" 

"I'm  not  sure  yet,"  answered  Forsythe,  "but 
we've  got  to  do  something  pretty  soon.  And  it's 
going  to  take  money." 

He  handed  Dicky  the  letter  from  the  Doggett 
Shoe  Company.  Dicky  read  it  through. 


244  JOAN  &  CO. 

"He  was  one  of  our  best  customers,"  explained 
Forsythe. 

"Has  Mr.  Burnett  seen  this  yet?" 

"Not  yet.  I  was  going  to  talk  it  over  with  him 
this  morning." 

"Well,  I  would  n't,"  said  Dicky. 

"The  sooner  he  understands  the  situation,  the 
better,"  declared  Forsythe. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  Dicky.  "At 
any  rate,  I  don't  want  him  bothered  with  this  for 
a  day  or  two.  In  the  meanwhile,  can't  you  make 
some  sort  of  a  proposition  to  this  crowd?" 

"  I  've  got  something  started  already." 

"That's  the  stuff.  Let  me  know  how  it  comes 
out." 

He  rose. 

"In  the  meanwhile,"  he  concluded,  as  he  went 
toward  his  father's  office,  "  keep  your  shirt  on  and 
don't  mention  this  to  Mr.  Burnett.  I  '11  take  over 
his  share  of  this  new  responsibility." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  NEW  STENOGRAPHER 

THE  plant  of  the  Devons  Manufacturing 
Company  was  running  to  capacity,  such  as 
that  was.  Devons  was  working  twelve  hours  a  day 
trying  to  fill  his  orders  —  orders  that  came  in  un- 
solicited. And  Joan  was  trying  her  best  to  keep  up 
her  end  of  the  work,  though,  as  the  correspondence 
increased,  this  was  becoming  more  difficult.  She 
had  rented  a  typewriter,  and,  though  by  exceeding 
care  and  close  application,  she  could  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  pick  out  with  fair,  if  wobbly,  success 
whole  practice  sentences,  she  still  found  it  con- 
siderably easier  to  write  her  letters  in  long  hand. 
The  result  in  a  way  was  effective,  because  there 
were  few  men  who  did  not  instinctively  select 
first  from  their  mail  envelopes  addressed  in  her 
bold,  feminine  handwriting. 

The  bookkeeping,  too,  had  become  considerably 
more  complicated  since  she  made  her  first  entry, 
and  not  all  the  new  customers  were  as  eager  to  pay 
cash  as  Forsythe  had  been.  Then  she  had  to  keep 
another  book  for  the  supplies  purchased,  and  they 
developed  daily  into  a  longer  and  longer  list.  Take 
it  all  in  all,  she  had  enough  to  do. 

From  Devons's  point  of  view  she  had  too  much 


246  JOAN  &  CO. 

to  do.  Whenever  he  had  a  minute  to  glance  in  her 
direction  he  found  her  scowling  over  the  ledgers 
like  a  worried  school-girl.  Sometimes  he  had  to 
speak  two  or  three  times  to  call  her  attention  to 
the  fact  that  it  was  the  lunch  hour.  Had  he  not 
kept  track  of  it  himself,  there  would  have  been 
days  when  she  would  not  have  lunched  at  all. 
Neither  would  he,  had  he  only  himself  to  consider. 
It  was  an  effort  to  stop,  but,  hang  it  all,  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  having  got  her  down  here  and  the 
least  he  could  do  now  was  to  take  care  of  her. 

Not  that  this  was  by  any  means  an  unpleasant 
duty.  Rather  was  it  a  disconcertingly  agreeable 
task.  When  it  is  necessary  to  observe  a  thermostat 
to  the  fraction  of  a  degree,  watch  in  hand,  and 
keep  in  mind  at  the  same  time  sundry  other  details 
marking  the  difference  between  success  and  fail- 
ure, it  may  be  pleasant  enough  to  have  in  the  rear 
of  the  office  quite  the  most  beautiful  and  adorable 
and  altogether  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the 
world;  but  not  to  be  distracted  by  that  fact  re- 
quires a  degree  of  self-control  that  in  time  amounts 
to  a  strain.  Scientific  laboratory  processes  are  not 
supposed  to  be  involved  with  dark  eyes  and  a 
pretty  mouth  unjustly  disturbed  by  a  set  of  books 
concerned  with  figures.  Whenever  he  saw  her  puz- 
zling over  a  column,  or  whenever 'he  heard  the 
timid  click  of  the  typewriter  as  she  laboriously 
strove  to  strike  the  right  key,  he  kept  saying  to 


JOAN  &  CO.  247 

himself  that  she  did  not  belong  there.  She  was  not 
meant  to  be  disturbed  by  anything.  Because  she 
was,  he  felt  guilty. 

Even  when  his  thoughts  took  a  pleasanter 
course  and  ran  ahead  to  what  the  future  promised, 
to  keep  track  of  the  temperature  of  a  kettle  of 
linseed  oil  at  the  same  time  got  on  his  nerves. 
Whether  the  stuff  became  too  hot  or  not  hot 
enough  appeared  an  indifferent  matter  as  soon  as 
he  indulged  in  the  pastime  of  multiplying  the 
profit  per  gallon  by  the  number  of  gallons  he  was 
manufacturing  at  present,  and  multiplying  that 
again  by  the  number  he  could  legitimately  look 
forward  to,  based  on  the  increase  of  orders  this  last 
week.  And  that  was  not  touching  the  wide  market 
beyond  this  single  city.  It  was  enough  to  make  a 
man  dizzy  in  and  of  itself.  Translate  that  income 
into  terms  of  what  it  meant  to  him  for  her  —  she 
being  at  that  very  moment  within  calling  distance 
of  his  voice  —  and  the  wonder  is  that  he  succeeded 
in  doing  anything  at  all. 

Yet  he  held  himself  amazingly  steady.  Day  after 
day  she  came  into  the  office  in  the  morning  like 
some  breath  of  spring,  and  though  the  man  within 
him  leaped  to  meet  her  with  eager,  unsatisfied 
kisses,  —  there  were  moments  when  he  had  to 
hold  himself  rigid  not  to  venture  after  not  having 
seen  her  since  the  day  before,  —  he  merely  nodded 
a  curt  good-morning  and  went  on  with  his  work. 


248  JOAN  &  CO. 

It  was  not  easy.  Nor  was  it  easy,  when  at  noon  he 
went  out  to  lunch  with  her,  to  remember  that  after 
all  she  was  only  loaning  herself  to  him  for  a  little 
while.  Contingencies  might  arise  at  any  time  that 
would  sweep  her  entirely  out  of  his  life  again.  To 
be  sure,  he  felt  more  and  more  secure  as  the  days 
went  by,  but  he  never  allowed  himself  to  be  over- 
optimistic.  As  his  process  bade  fair  to  supersede 
the  old,  another  process  might  appear  to  super- 
sede his.  It  was  too  soon  to  feel  secure.  But  when 
that  time  arrived,  and  he  could  look  her  fair  in  the 
eyes  and  bid  her  come  with  him  back  into  the 
world  in  which  she  belonged,  then  —  it  was  a 
heady  dream.  It  sounded  at  times  like  an  im- 
possible dream.  Yet  if  you  multiplied  the  profit 
per  gallon  with  the  number  of  gallons  — 

He  had  been  looking  around  for  the  last  few 
days.  The  doctor  in  the  next  office  had  spoken  to 
him  about  a  very  good  stenographer  and  book- 
keeper whom  he  was  afraid  he  must  soon  let  go. 
If  Devons  could  use  her,  he  would  find  her  an 
exceptionally  efficient  girl.  It  was  not  the  nine 
dollars  a  week  that  made  Devons  hesitate  —  he 
would  take  that  much  out  of  his  hide  if  necessary 
to  relieve  Joan,  —  but  it  was  the  fear  that  if  she 
did  not  have  something  to  do  here  she  would  not 
stay  at  all.  His  ideal  would  be  to  have  her  come 
in  during  the  forenoon  of  every  day  and  just  stay 
around  for  an  hour  or  two. 


JOAN  &  CO.  249 

"Is  the  work  getting  too  hard  for  you?"  he 
asked  her  one  day. 

"No,"  she  answered  unhesitatingly. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  get  all  tired  out,"  he  said 
solicitously. 

She  laughed  at  that.  "Do  I  look  tired?" 

He  was  forced  to  admit  that  she  did  not.  On  the 
contrary,  she  seemed  to  be  vitalized  by  a  new 
alertness.  She  entered  the  office  in  the  morning 
with  a  quicker  step  and  a  fresher  glow  in  her 
cheeks.  This  was  partly  explained  by  the  fact  that 
now  she  walked  some  of  the  way  downtown,  gen- 
erally leaving  Charles  at  Third  Avenue  and  Thir- 
tieth Street,  and  continuing  the  remainder  of  the 
distance  on  foot.  This  necessitated  arising  a  little 
earlier,  but  that  was  no  hardship,  because  she 
found  herself  waking  at  seven.  With  no  evening 
engagements  she  retired  by  ten,  which  gave  her  a 
longer  rest  than  she  had  enjoyed  for  five  years  — 
or  at  least  a  different  sort  of  rest.  She  woke  up  re- 
freshed in  body  and  soul.  She  sprang  from  bed 
with  the  zest  of  an  athlete,  and,  forgetting  that 
such  a  person  as  Henriette  existed,  completed  her 
own  toilet  in  half  an  hour.  To  be  able  to  do  this 
was  in  itself  no  small  luxury.  It  was  good  to  be 
alone  in  the  early  morning  with  all  the  world  about 
her  fresh  and  noiseless.  It  gave  her  a  feeling  of 
intimacy  with  herself  and  her  surroundings.  This 
was  her  room  and  these  were  her  things  in  the 


250  JOAN  &  CO. 

daytime  as  before  they  had  been  only  in  the  dark 
at  night.  She  felt  herself  a  part  of  the  day  now  — 
a  part  of  the  big,  stirring  city  which  she  knew  was 
also  awakening  at  this  hour.  She  was  one  of  the 
hundred  thousands  that  came  to  life  like  Nature 
with  the  rising  sun  —  that  took  their  part  in  the 
day's  work,  and  so,  in  a  sense,  became  an  integral 
part  of  the  universe.  It  gave  significance  to  details 
which  had  been  merely  negative.  Her  little  four- 
posted  bed  became  a  positive  factor  in  her  life 
because  it  offered  her  rest  after  the  day's  work;  the 
dimity  curtains  at  the  window,  the  paper  on  the 
wall,  the  rugs  on  the  floor,  became  associated  with 
the  personal  side  of  her  because  they  were  there 
when  she  came  in  with  her  mind  still  active  with 
the  finished  business  of  the  day  just  gone,  and 
greeted  her  in  the  morning  when  she  rose  with  all 
her  thoughts  of  the  work  which  lay  ahead.  They 
did  not  mean  anything  when  she  came  in  listless 
or  merely  physically  tired.  It  is  doubtful  if  before 
she  could  have  described  minutely  any  of  these 
exterior  things.  Now  she  could  have  sketched 
with  accuracy  the  pattern  in  the  rugs. 

It  was  to  a  less  extent  so  downstairs.  She  had 
her  breakfast  alone  in  the  big  dining-room,  and  she 
came  to  know  that  room  —  to  feel  at  home  in  that 
room  just  because  it  was  helping  to  make  her 
ready  for  the  tasks  ahead.  Breakfast  itself  ceased 
to  be  merely  a  concession  to  nature.  She  enjoyed 


JOAN  &  CO.  251 

her  toast  and  coffee  and  eggs.  She  ate  with  a  relish 
that  caused  Jeffrey  to  temper  in  his  own  mind  the 
verdict  of  madness  with  which  in  the  kitchen  his 
mistress  was  being  accused.  To  be  sure,  it  was  most 
unusual  for  a  young  lady  to  rise  at  seven  and  dress 
herself  unassisted;  it  was  most  unusual  for  a  young 
lady,  not  starting  on  a  journey,  to  leave  the  house 
shortly  after  half-past  seven;  it  was  most  unusual 
for  a  young  lady  to  remain  at  home  after  dinner 
night  after  night.  But  if  such  a  strange  proce- 
dure not  only  improved  the  young  lady's  appetite 
and  color,  but  her  spirits  as  well,  it  was  going  a  bit 
far  to  hint  that  she  was  losing  her  mind.  Stranger 
methods  than  this  were  resorted  to  in  search  of 
just  such  results.  He  had  heard  of  barefoot  walk- 
ing at  dawn  in  the  parks,  to  mention  only  one. 

It  was  when  Joan  left  Charles  at  Third  Avenue 
and  hurried  on  alone,  that  the  color  in  her  cheeks 
deepened.  It  was  curious  how,  to  so  tiny  an  ad- 
venture, she  responded.  But  until  these  last  few 
weeks  it  is  doubtful  if  ever  she  had  walked  alone 
three  blocks  in  New  York  City,  and  then  only 
upon  the  one  avenue.  The  other  avenues  were  but 
numerical  facts  lying  either  side  of  Fifth,  made 
necessary  by  Fifth,  as  of  course  one  may  not  have 
five  without  one,  two,  three,  and  four,  or,  count- 
ing backwards,  one  reaches  fifth  again  through  ten, 
nine,  eight,  seven,  and  six. 

But  this  Third  Avenue  was  now  taking  on  an  in- 


252  JOAN  &  CO. 

dividuality  of  its  own.  It  seemed  to  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  Fifth.  It  was  almost  like  a 
street  in  another  city.  She  was  surprised  by  the 
number  of  other  girls  she  met  and  with  whom  she 
walked  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  silence  —  all  hurry- 
ing into  buildings  similar  to  the  building  she  now 
called  hers.  Many  were  of  her  own  age,  and  in  time 
there  were  some  she  felt  as  though  she  knew.  They 
were  in  a  way  like  Mildred  —  like  sisters  of  Mil- 
dred. She  would  have  liked  to  speak  to  them  if 
only  to  say  "Good-morning."  Sometimes  she  met 
their  eyes  and  sometimes  she  smiled  back  into 
them,  but  more  often  than  not  they  turned  away 
without  response,  as  though  refusing  to  admit  her 
as  one  of  them.  At  first  she  did  not  understand 
this.  It  was  a  trim,  confident  little  body  from  the 
next  office,  whom  she  met  several  times  in  the 
elevator,  who  gave  her  a  hint  by  staring  one  day 
over-long  at  the  sables  she  wore.  She  never  wore 
those  down  here  again  because  she  noticed  that 
none  of  the  other  girls  wore  sables.  After  that  — 
it  may  have  been  merely  an  illusion  —  she  thought 
the  girls  became  more  friendly. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  the  elevator  boy 
began  to  call  her  by  name  in  the  morning.  It  was 
always,  "Good-morning,  Miss  Fairburne." 
And  she  answered,  "Good-morning,  Jimmy." 
She  did  not  know  how  he  learned  her  name  or 
where  she  learned  his  name.  There  seemed  to  be 


JOAN  &  CO.  253 

some  vague  bond  of  brotherhood  among  those  who 
met  on  their  way  to  work  in  the  morning. 'It  was 
a  little  bit  like  on  shipboard,  where  somehow  people 
come  to  know  each  other  before  the  end  of  the 
voyage  even  without  formal  introductions. 

All  these  things  Joan  appreciated.  These  new 
faces  and  interests  enlarged  her  world  as,  to  a 
lesser  degree,  did  all  those  unknown  people  with 
whom  she  corresponded  in  the  name  of  the  Devons 
Manufacturing  Company.  They  all  helped  to  take 
her  out  of  herself. 

Just  as  Mark  Devons  did.  She  never  thought  of 
herself  —  her  old  self  —  in  connection  with  him. 
She  did  not  associate  him  any  longer  with  that 
room  he  had  occupied  in  her  own  home.  Since  the 
evening  she  had  visited  him  in  Mullen  Court  he 
had  always  remained  there  in  her  thoughts  — 
there  and  in  the  office.  It  was  much  pleasanter  to 
think  of  him  in  his  own  surroundings.  They  were 
part  of  him  and  he  a  part  of  them.  In  their  sim- 
plicity and  unconventionality  they  typified  him. 
She  liked  the  directness  of  the  life  they  stood  for. 
They  emphasized  the  man  rather  than  his  trap- 
pings. In  remembering  the  little  attic  room  with 
its  refreshing  bareness,  it  seemed  as  though  he 
could  not  possibly  live  anywhere  else. 

Here  in  the  office  he  wore  the  long  olive-green 
laboratory  coat  he  had  used  at  Tech.  It  buttoned 
to  his  chin  and  came  to  his  feet,  and  was  all  stained 


254  JOAN  &  CO. 

with  oil  and  burned  full  of  holes  by  acids.  It  neu- 
tralized all  of  him  but  his  hands  and  his  face,  so 
that  one  was  never  conscious  of  his  dress.  She 
liked  him  so.  And  she  liked  to  watch  him  at  work 
when  he  was  not  aware  of  her  gaze.  She  had  to  be 
careful  about  this  because  every  now  and  then  he 
looked  suddenly.  Once  or  twice  he  had  caught  her, 
and  then  she  was  never  able  to  control  the  rush  of 
color  to  her  cheeks.  After  she  turned  back  to  her 
work,  she  was  sometimes  left  quite  breathless  for 
a  full  minute  or  two. 

Yet  it  was  difficult  not  to  admire  the  confident 
way  in  which  he  went  about  his  tasks.  He  was 
so  sure  of  every  movement  of  his  steady  hands. 
He  was  so  coolly  accurate,  so  alert,  so  intense. 
This  business  was  an  expression  in  him  of  his  de- 
sire to  do,  to  accomplish,  to  play  his  part  in  the 
big,  vibrant  world  of  doers  about  him. 

And  she  in  her  little  way  was  playing  her  part 
also.  As  yet  she  could  not  do  very  much  and  that 
little  clumsily,  but  she  thought  she  saw  every  day 
an  improvement  in  her  typewriting.  Doubtless 
the  girl  in  the  next  office  would  have  laughed 
could  she  have  seen  her  stabbing  erratically  with 
her  forefingers  at  the  keys,  forgetting  very  often 
to  strike  the  space  bar  at  all  between  words. 
Doubtless  the  girl  in  the  next  office  could  have 
done  the  same  work  better  in  one  half  the  time 
and  with  half  the  effort.  She  was  a  very  capable- 


JOAN  &  CO.  255 

looking  young  lady  of  a  sharp,  precise  type. 
Joan  had  overheard  the  doctor  recommending  her 
highly  to  Devons. 

"She  is  quick  and  accurate,"  he  had  said,  "but 
if  business  does  n't  pick  up  I  may  have  to  let  her 
go.  If  I  do,  you'd  better  grab  her." 

"Thanks,"  Devons  had  answered;  "I'll  keep 
her  in  mind." 

For  a  day  or  two  Joan  had  felt  more  or  less 
piqued  by  that  conversation.  Devons  had  not  re- 
plied as  she  expected  him  to  reply.  He  seemed 
to  admit  that  in  the  future  this  other  might  be  a 
possibility.  She  applied  herself  more  industriously 
than  ever  to  the  sentence,  "Now  is  the  time  for 
all  good  men  to  rally  to  the  aid  of  their  country," 
with  the  result  that  she  cut  down  her  slips  from 
ten  to  six  and  in  the  process  almost  forgot  Miss 
Manning  entirely. 

Then,  coming  in  one  morning  a  little  later  than 
usual,  she  found  Miss  Manning  sitting  in  her 
chair,  behind  her  typewriter,  busily  opening  the 
early  mail.  Dazed  she  looked  swiftly  about  the 
office  for  Devons.  He  was  not  there. 

"This  is  Miss  Fairburne?"  inquired  Miss 
Manning. 

Joan  must  have  answered,  though  she  was  not 
conscious  of  it. 

"I  am  Miss  Manning,"  the  girl  informed  her. 
"Mr.  Devons  asked  me  to  give  you  this  note.*' 


256  JOAN  &  CO. 

Joan  took  the  note  and  for  a  moment  held  it 
in  her  hand. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Devons?"  she  asked. 

"He  has  gone  out." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Perhaps  the  note  will  explain,"  suggested 
Miss  Manning  indifferently. 

Joan  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  note  was 
brief. 

"Dear  Joan,"  it  read,  "please  to  go  home. 
I  will  try  to  get  in  touch  with  you  there  some  time 
to-day.': 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

REAL  NEWS 

THE  story  Moran  had  run  into  was  bigger 
than  he  anticipated.  As  a  rule  the  layman's 
conception  of  what  makes  good  reading  does 
not  measure  up  to  professional  standards,  but  in 
this  case  it  was  necessary  to  give  Forsythe  credit 
for  having  the  real  news  instinct.  A  daughter  of 
the  Fairburnes  working  as  a  stenographer  was  es- 
sentially good  stuff.  Moran  had  the  word  of  the 
society  editor  that  the  Fairburnes  were  the  real 
thing  and  had  been  for  a  couple  of  generations. 
One  had  only  to  read  a  list  of  Fairburne's  clubs 
if  skeptical. 

But  even  so  the  story  would  have  had  consid- 
erably less  value  had  not  the  girl  been  so  good- 
looking.  To  be  sure,  the  story  would  have  been 
headed  just  the  same,  "  Beautiful  Society  Girl, 
a  stenographer,"  even  if  she  had  been  red-headed, 
cross-eyed,  and  snub-nosed,  but  it  added  a  great 
deal  to  its  worth  to  be  able  actually  to  come  across 
with  photographs  to  justify  such  a  statement. 
And  an  eye  for  the  dramatic  value  of  pictures 
was  Moran's  specialty.  He  did  not  bother  Joan 
herself  because  he  did  not  care  to  run  the  risk 
of  frightening  her  away.  He  merely  followed  her 


258  JOAN  &  CO. 

to  her  home  one  afternoon,  and  thereby  learned 
her  name  and  address.  The  society  editor  and  the 
graveyard  supplied  certain  other  details,  and  the 
elevator  boy  at  the  loft  building  unconsciously 
revealed  her  business  habits. 

"She  gets  down  here  about  eight  every  morn- 
ing," he  informed  Moran. 

At  half-past  six  the  next  morning  Moran  had 
Bill  Somers,  one  of  the  staff  photographers,  sta- 
tioned opposite  the  Fairburne  house  to  snap  her 
as  she  stepped  into  her  waiting  limousine  to  go 
to  work.  It  would  be  difficult  to  beat  that  for  a 
picture.  They  then  followed  her  to  the  point  where 
she  stepped  out  and  proceeded  on  foot.  Another 
corker!  Finally  they  took  her  as  she  entered  the 
building  off  Third  Avenue.  He  found  in  stock,  to 
serve  as  an  effective  contrast,  certain  pictures 
which  had  been  taken  of  her  at  the  time  of  her 
debut  in  an  exquisite  gown  from  Paris  which  re- 
vealed the  beautiful  curves  of  her  neck  and  arms. 

Armed  with  these  and  a  half-column  story 
which,  though  somewhat  vague  in  details,  was 
still  adequate  to  carry  the  pictures,  Moran  ap- 
peared before  Forsythe  late  one  afternoon. 

"I  want  to  run  this  Sunday  after  next,"  he  in- 
formed Forsythe. 

"Steady,"  Forsythe  warned.  "Remember  I  have 
an  option  on  these." 

He  looked  them  over  with  satisfaction.  The  job 


JOAN  &  CO.  259 

could  not  have  been  better  done  had  he  done  it 
himself  —  which  was  a  good  deal  for  a  man  like 
Forsythe  to  admit.  A  little  more  might  have  been 
made  of  Devons,  but  he  could  write  that  in  him- 
self. He  rose. 

"Leave  these  to  me." 

"Eh?" 

"If  I  can  use  these  as  I  think  I  can,  I'll  pay 
you  big." 

Moran  looked  uncomfortable. 

"  I  'm  risking  my  job." 

"Nothing  ventured,  nothing  gained,"  replied 
Forsythe  sententiously. 

"I  know,  but  —  hang  it  all,  you  aren't  going 
to  try  to  hold  up  the  girl  or  anything  like  that?" 

It  was  a  strange  speech  for  Moran  to  make. 
He  had  never  spoken  to  the  lady  in  question  and 
never  seen  her  except  at  a  distance,  but  somehow 
she  had  made  a  hit  with  him.  He  liked  the  way  she 
carried  herself.  She  was  not  only  good-looking 
but  something  more  —  a  whole  lot  more.  She 
looked  like  a  good  sport — the  kind  a  man  does  n't 
like  to  hurt.  Besides,  he  might  occasionally  have 
done  a  thing  or  two  in  his  life  that  was  not  strictly 
professional,  but  he  had  never  before  been  in- 
volved in  anything  such  as  Forsythe's  eyes  sug- 
gested. Had  it  been  possible  he  would  have  pulled 
out  of  the  whole  affair  at  that  moment. 

Forsythe  scented  danger.    He  forced  a  smile. 


260  JOAN  &  CO. 

"It's  the  man  I'm  after,"  he  explained.  "It's 
sort  of  one  on  him,  that's  all.  Don't  worry." 

"I'll  be  back  for  those  to-morrow  morning," 
said  Moran  uneasily. 

"Right,"  nodded  Forsythe.  "Good-day." 

Moran  went  out  reluctantly.  No  sooner  had 
the  door  closed  behind  him  than  with  a  cautious 
glance  toward  Burnett's  office,  Forsythe  picked 
up  the  telephone  and  called  up  the  Devons  Manu- 
facturing Company. 

It  was  the  girl  whose  picture  he  held  in  his  hand 
who  answered  him. 

"Mr.  Devons,  please,"  said  Forsythe. 

After  an  interval  Devons  responded. 

"My  name  is  Forsythe,"  he  announced.  "Yes — 
of  the  Burnett  Manufacturing  Company.  I  want 
to  see  you  to-night  on  a  very  important  matter. 
No,  I  can't  tell  you  over  the  telephone.  Yes, 
partly  business  and  partly  personal.  If  you'll  come 
into  the  Waldorf  lobby  I  '11  pick  you  up  near  the 
desk.  At  eight.  You  understand  this  is  really  im- 
portant? At  eight,  then,  to-night,  near  the  clerk's 
desk  at  the  Waldorf.  Good-bye." 

Forsythe  hung  up  the  receiver.  His  forehead  was 
moist.  This  was  an  unusual  piece  of  business  even 
for  him.  He  hoped  it  would  not  be  necessary  to 
carry  it  through,  but  if  it  were  —  well,  in  a  crisis 
it  was  every  man  for  himself. 

Forsythe  entered  the  hotel  at  seven,  and  in  the 


JOAN  &  CO.'  261 

next  hour  drank  several  cocktails.  This  in  itself 
was  enough  to  prove  that  the  work  ahead  of  him 
was  unusual  because  he  had  not  drunk  as  much  as 
that  in  the  last  five  years.  But  the  effect  was  to 
give  him  considerably  more  confidence  of  a  certain 
swaggering  kind.  After  all,  a  man  who  has  worked 
as  hard  as  he  had  for  ten  years  had  certain  rights. 
One  of  these  rights  was  to  protect  himself  —  by 
fair  means  if  possible,  but  if  that  were  not  possible, 
then  by  any  other  means  he  could  find.  Business 
in  a  certain  sense  was  war.  He  had  seen  worse 
things  done  than  he  proposed,  in  both  war  and 
business. 

Yet  if  Devons  had  not  come  in  fifteen  minutes 
early,  the  chances  are  that  Forsythe  would  have 
needed  another  drink.  The  effect  of  the  stimulant 
did  not  last  long.  The  sight  of  Devons  almost  un- 
did the  efforts  of  the  last  hour.  He  extended  his 
hand  and  Devons  took  it  with  a  trace  of  reluctance. 
Forsythe  found  a  couple  of  vacant  chairs  in  a 
corner  and  led  the  young  man  over  to  them. 

"I  was  n't  sure  that  you  would  remember  me," 
began  Forsythe.  "You  came  to  me  last  fall." 

"I  remember  you  perfectly,"  replied  Devons, 
"I  think  you've  been  to  my  office  since  then." 

Forsythe  started. 

"That's  so,"  answered  Forsythe  with  an  awk- 
ward laugh;  "I  guess  I  was  one  of  your  first  cus- 
tomers." 


161  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  'm  sorry  I  was  n't  in  at  the  time." 

"Your  stenographer  proved  very  capable.  I  take 
it  she  is  your  stenographer." 

"No,"  answered  Devons,  "she  is  n't." 

"Really?" 

He  waited  as  though  for  an  explanation;  waited 
as  though  an  explanation  were  necessary. 

"  She 's  my  partner,"  Devons  informed  him. 

Forsythe  raised  his  brows. 

"  She 's  a  mighty  attractive  partner  if  I  may  say 
so,"  he  replied. 

"I  don't  see  any  occasion  for  your  saying  so," 
Devons  replied  sharply. 

"Is  there  any  harm  in  it?" 

"It's  beside  the  point.  I  don't  suppose  you 
called  me  down  here  for  that." 

Forsythe's  face  hardened.  He  resented  the  im- 
pudence of  the  youngster. 

"Yes  and  no,"  he  replied.  "Let's  go  back  a 
little.  You  came  to  me  last  fall  with  a  proposition 
to  buy  your  new  enamel." 

"Which  you  turned  down,"  Devons  reminded 
him. 

"Yes." 

"  With  a  warning  that  I  'd  come  back." 

"Did  I?  I'd  forgotten.  Perhaps  you'll  come 
back  yet." 

"I  doubt  it." 

"At  any  rate,  I'm  ready  to  make  it  worth  your 


JOAN  &  CO.  263 

while.  I've  had  time  since  then  to  test  it  a  bit. 
Frankly  it  has  turned  out  better  than  I  thought 
it  would." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  can  recommend  it." 

Forsythe  flushed. 

"Are  you  still  in  the  market?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  can't  accept  any  more  orders  just  at  present," 
replied  Devons. 

"That  is  n't  what  I  mean.  Are  you  still  ready 
to  sell  the  patent  rights?" 

"No." 

"  I  'm  ready  to  make  you  a  generous  offer." 

"  I  'm  not  ready  to  listen  to  any  offer." 

Forsythe  leaned  forward. 

"Look  here,  my  boy,"  he  went  on  earnestly, 
"don't  lose  your  head.  You  have  a  good  enamel 
there,  but  I  Ve  been  long  enough  in  this  business 
to  know  that's  only  half  the  game.  A  plant  and 
organization  back  of  your  product  is  the  other 
half.  You'll  find  out  that  as  you  go  on.  Maybe 
you  can  handle  your  orders  now,  but  you  're  only 
scratching  the  surface.  Why  can't  we  pull  together 
on  this  new  proposition  —  say  on  some  royalty 
basis?  Believe  me,  you  need  us  more  than  we 
need  you." 

"You  're  coming  to  me:  I  'm  not  going  to  you," 
Devons  reminded  him. 

"That  only  proves  you  're  not  as  experienced  3 
business  man  as  you  might  be,"  snapped  Forsythe. 


264  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Perhaps." 

"I'll  venture  to  say  that  on  a  ten  per  cent 
royalty  we  could  make  more  money  for  you  in  a 
month  than  you  will  be  able  to  make  in  a  year." 

"So?" 

"Because  we  have  the  plant  and  organization  to 
cover  the  market  quickly  and  thoroughly." 

Devons  nodded. 

"You  're  right  about  your  plant.  You  are  n't  in 
the  market  with  that,  are  you?" 

"What?"  gasped  Forsythe. 

"I'll  have  to  have  more  room  before  long.  If 
you  're  in  a  position  to  make  a  reasonable  price —  " 

Forsythe  smiled  —  a  wicked  smile. 

"You  certainly  have  your  nerve  with  you,"  he 
cut  in. 

"How?" 

"Are  you  ready  to  pay  a  quarter  of  a  million?  " 

"Are  you?"  Devons  parried  instantly. 

"Is  that  your  price?" 

"I  might  consider  that  much  cash." 

Forsythe  was  still  smiling.  "That's  too  much," 
he  answered  quietly;  "could n't  you  take  off  the 
matter  of  two  hundred  thousand  or  so?" 

"Not  even  a  dollar.  I'm  not  trying  to  sell." 

"That's  quite  clear.  I  think  I  could  do  better 
with  your  —  partner." 

"We'll  leave  her  out  of  the  conversation." 

Forsythe  reached  in  his  pocket. 


JOAN  &  CO.  265 

"That  reminds  me.  I  told  you  my  business  was 
partly  personal." 

He  drew  out  a  package  of  papers  and  photo- 
graphs. 

"I  have  a  friend  in  the  newspaper  game,"  he 
explained  as  he  held  them  in  his  hand.  "He  came 
to  me  to  make  inquiries  about  you.  He  showed  me 
these  and  I  asked  him  to  hold  up  the  story  until 
I  showed  them  to  you.  You  may  find  them  inter- 
esting." 

He  handed  them  to  Devons. 

"These  are  copies,"  he  observed  as  the  man  took 
them. 

Forsythe  sat  back  in  his  chair  where  he  could 
watch  the  young  man's  face.  If  it  had  been  a  ques- 
tion as  to  just  how  effective  a  weapon  he  had,  the 
moment  Devons  caught  sight  of  the  pictures  it  was 
no  longer  a  question.  He  saw  Devons  first  flush  and 
then  grow  pale. 

"What  the  devil  are  they?"  Devons  demanded. 

"They  explain  themselves,  don't  they?"  queried 
Forsythe. 

Devons  went  over  the  pictures  and  read  the 
typewritten  manuscript.  He  read  it  with  skin  afire. 
Probably  he  had  glanced  through  half  a  hundred 
such  stories  about  other  people  with  indifferent 
interest  before  now.  But  this  —  this  was  sacrilege. 
It  was  nothing  short  of  that.  It  was  holding  Joan 
up  to  the  public  gaze  as  shamelessly  as  though  he 


266  JOAN  &  CO. 

were  parading  her  through  the  streets  behind  a 
brass  band.  It  was  something  that  would  maul  her 
sensitive  soul;  something  that  she  would  shrink 
back  from  with  her  arm  over  her  eyes.  And  all 
through  the  narrative  her  name  had  been  linked 
with  his  in  a  way  that  by  subtle  innuendo  left 
those  so  inclined  to  read  between  the  lines  what 
they  would.  Then  there  were  the  blatant  pic- 
tures —  including  one  of  him  which  he  recognized 
as  having  appeared  in  his  class  album.  Under- 
neath it  had  been  scrawled  "Mr.  Mark  Devons, 
manager  of  the  Devons  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany." 

It  was  as  though  this  were  written  in  red  ink.  It 
was  as  though  it  were  an  accusation  of  some  sort. 

He  turned  upon  Forsythe.  He  spoke  slowly. 
His  fists  were  clenched. 

"You  damned  yellow  dog,"  he  breathed. 

"Easy,  my  boy,"  returned  Forsythe;  "that 
does  n't  strike  me  as  the  kind  of  language  to  use  to 
a  man  who  is  trying  to  do  a  friendly  act  for  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  took  the  trouble  to  show  you  this  before  it 
was  printed." 

"Why?" 

Forsythe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  you  want  it  printed?" 

"You  —  you  wouldn't  dare  do  a  thing  of  that 
sort!" 


JOAN  &  CO.  267 

"It  is  n't  my  affair." 

"It  must  be  stopped.  It — it  would  kill  her." 

"Well?"  inquired  Forsythe. 

"Let  me  see  the  man  who  wrote  it." 

"These  were  given  to  me  in  confidence." 

"Then  you —  Good  Lord,  Forsythe,  you  would 
n't  do  this  to  a  woman?  She  'd  take  anything  like 
this  hard.  It 's  unfair  to  her.  It  would  hurt  her 
unjustly." 

"Why  mix  me  up  in  it?"  Forsythe  broke  out  im- 
patiently. "  It 's  the  business  of  a  newspaper  man 
to  print  a  good  story  where  he  finds  it.  I  did  n't 
write  it." 

"You  mean  it  can't  be  stopped?" 

"I  did  n't  say  that.  Of  course,  I  'm  willing  to  do 
what  I  can.  But  under  the  circumstances  there  is 
no  particular  reason  why  I  should,  is  there?" 

Devons  gripped  his  jaws. 

"Forsythe,"  he  said,  "if  we  were  out  in  the 
open  I  'd  take  a  chance  on  pounding  you  to  a 
jelly." 

Forsythe's  own  jaws  came  together. 

"Besides  the  fact  that  it  is  not  at  all  a  certainty 
you'd  succeed,  it  wouldn't  do  you  any  special 
good." 

"It  would  do  me  a  lot  of  good  —  a  lot  of  good," 
nodded  Devons. 

"Admitting  that,  then,  would  it  do  the  girl 
any  good?" 


268  JOAN  &  CO. 

Devons  winced.  Obviously  it  would  not.  The 
story  would  go  on  just  the  same.  It  would  take  its 
regular  course  until  it  shrieked  itself  forth  some 
Sunday  morning  to  amuse  a  few  hundred  people 
for  five  minutes  after  their  breakfast.  But  the 
memory  of  it  would  last  much  longer.  They  would 
point  at  her  on  the  street.  They  would  recognize 
her  in  the  theater.  Her  friends  might  shun  her. 

It  could  not  be,  that  was  all.  It  began  to  dawn 
on  him  what  Forsythe  was  about.  He  turned  once 
again  to  the  man. 

"What 's  your  price?"  he  demanded. 

"Who  said  anything  about  price?"  Forsythe 
answered  cautiously. 

"What  —  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  in  order 
to  interest  you  in  stopping  this?" 

"Let's  separate  the  two  things,"  Forsythe  sug- 
gested. "Let's  go  back  to  the  subject  of  business. 
I  came  down  here  prepared  to  offer  you  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  in  cash  for  your  patent  rights. 
I'll  make  the  offer  now." 

"  You  mean  that  if  I  '11  accept  that  you  '11  —  " 

"Steady,"  warned  Forsythe,  "don't  confuse  the 
two  propositions.  My  offer  to  you  is  strictly  busi- 
ness. Naturally  I'd  be  willing  to  assist  a  business 
friend  in  any  persona*  way  open  to  me.  However, 
that  is  merely  incidental." 

"The  man  who  —  who  wrote  this  stuff  would 
tear  it  up  at  your  request?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  269 

"He  is  under  certain  obligations  to  me,"  ad- 
mitted Forsythe. 

"What  assurance  would  I  have?" 

"You  could  close  your  plant  for  one  thing,  dis- 
miss your  charming  employee  —  " 

"Damn  you,  Forsythe!" 

The  latter  rose. 

"So  the  little  romance  would  be  ended  and  the 
story  would  lack  point.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  sit 
here  and  listen  any  longer  to  such  language  as 
that." 

Devons  took  him  by  the  sleeve  —  with  his  thumb 
and  forefinger  as  one  might  handle  something  un- 
clean. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Forsythe.  You'll  give  me  a 
little  time  to  think  this  over?" 

"I'll  give  you  until  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"Eleven  to-morrow,"  repeated  Devons. 

"I  '11  be  at  your  office  with  a  contract." 

"At  my  office,"  repeated  Devons  automatically. 

"I  expect  to  decide  the  matter  there  in  ten 
minutes.  Good-night." 

Forsythe  started  through  the  lobby,  but  until 
he  was  out  on  the  street  he  kept  turning  around 
as  though  in  fear. 

Devons  had  settled  down  in  his  chair  and  was 
staring  at  the  toes  of  his  boots. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  BIG  HOUR 

T  being  a  fair,  clear  day  with  a  touch  of  spring 
in  the  air,  Dicky  took  his  father's  arm  and 
escorted  him  on  foot  half  the  distance  to  the  office. 
As  a  consequence  they  did  not  come  in  until  after 
nine,  which,  while  early  enough  under  normal 
conditions,  gave  Forsythe  as  uneasy  an  hour  as 
he  had  ever  spent  in  his  life.  He  had  been  pacing 
the  floor  since  eight.  Even  then  it  was  ten  minutes 
before  Dicky  came  to  his  desk  and  Forsythe  had 
a  chance  to  speak  to  him. 

"You  remember  the  matter  I  spoke  to  you  of 
the  other  day?"  he  began  abruptly. 

"I  'm  not  sure,"  drawled  Dicky. 

"Then  you  did  n't  realize  its  seriousness," 
snapped  Forsythe.  "I  was  telling  you  about  the 
new  enamel  process  which  has  just  been  put  on 
the  market." 

"Right.  I  remember  now." 

"And  I  told  you  that  if  we  were  not  able  to 
corner  it  in  some  way,  it  would  come  pretty  close 
to  putting  us  out  of  business." 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  Ve —  I  Ve  got  an  option  on  it." 

"Good  for  you!"  exclaimed  Dicky. 


JOAN  &  CO.  ^  271 

"  It  expires  at  eleven  o'clock  to-day." 

"  Snappy  work !" 

"It  calls  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in 
cash,"  said  Forsythe  with  a  little  more  emphasis; 
"I  must  have  that  within  an  hour." 

"  That 's  a  lot  of  money,"  returned  Dicky. 

"In  one  way.  But  if  you're  getting  something 
worth  two  hundred  thousand  —  " 

"Eh?" 

"To  us,"  put  in  Forsythe  quickly. 

"But  how  in  thunder  did  you  do  it?"  questioned 
Dicky  with  interest. 

"That  isn't  important,"  returned  Forsythe. 
"The  important  thing  is  to  have  a  certified  check 
ready." 

'   "  That  ought  to  be  easy  —  if  you  're  sure  of 
yourself." 

"Do  you  think  I'd  go  through  what  I've  been 
through  if  I  was  n't  sure?" 

"I  don't  get  you." 

Forsythe  took  out  his  watch. 

"  It 's  now  quarter  of  ten.  Shall  I  see  Mr.  Bur- 
nett or  leave  it  to  you?" 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  answered  Dicky.  "I'll  go 
in  now." 

Forsythe  handed  him  the  sample  and  several 
letters. 

"Show  him  these,"  he  advised. 

Dicky  took  them,  and  feeling,  on  the  whole, 


272  JOAN  &  CO. 

rather  important  with  the  weight  of  business 
now  on  his  shoulders,  hurried  ^into  his  father's 
office.  Half  a  minute  later  he  was  back  again  to 
Forsythe. 

"That's  darned  curious,"  he  said.  "Dad  isn't 
there.  His  hat  and  coat  are  gone  too." 

Forsythe  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Call  a  taxi,"  he  ordered.  "Get  down  to  the 
offices  of  Toole  as  fast  as  you  can  make  it.  'Phone 
me  from  there." 

Burnett  senior  had  hardly  swung  his  swivel 
chair  up  to  his  desk  that  morning  before  he  re- 
ceived a  message  from  Toole.  It  was  brief. 

"There 's  going  to  be  something  doing  in  steel 
this  morning.  You  'd  better  be  here." 

"  You  mean  — " 

"Come  down  and  I'll  explain.  It's  important." 

So  Burnett  had  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  again 
and  tiptoed  out  with  his  heart  beating  faster 
than  it  should.  He  was  quite  sure  his  physician 
would  have  advised  against  any  such  excitement. 
But  if  all  went  well,  this  would  be  the  last  time. 
It  was  to  this  end  that  he  had  taken  on  yesterday 
a  heavier  load  than  he  ever  had  intended.  It  was 
to  this  end  that  he  had  broken  his  rule  about 
margin  trading.  It  was  Toole  who  had  suggested 
this.  He  reminded  him  that  the  five  thousand  he 
had  made  before  on  an  outright  purchase  might 
just  as  easily  have  been  fifty  thousand  with  the 


JOAN  &  CO.  273 

same  amount  of  capital  invested  on  a  ten-point 
margin.  After  all,  this  was  not  much  different 
from  the  ordinary  real-estate  transaction  where  one 
paid  a  per  cent  down  and  mortgaged  the  prop- 
erty for  the  balance.  The  method,  too,  saved  time. 
One  was  able  to  condense  a  year's  transactions 
into  a  day.  And  time  was  important. 

Dicky  had  bothered  him  a  good  deal  in  the  last 
few  days.  How  much  he  suspected  and  how  much 
he  knew  it  was  difficult  to  say,  but  it  was  cer- 
tain that  in  the  end  Dicky  would  find  out  every- 
thing and  put  a  stop  to  it.  He  had  been  around 
the  office  more  than  usual,  ever  since  he  came 
back  from  the  South.  Whatever  was  to  be  accom- 
plished must  be  accomplished  soon. 

And  in  the  last  month  he  had  dreamed  larger 
and  larger  dreams  for  the  boy.  At  first  he  had  been 
content  to  double  his  four  hundred  thousand, 
but  no  sooner  had  the  latter  figures  become  estab- 
lished in  his  mind  than  he  wanted  to  double 
those.  After  all,  when  one  was  about  it  one  might 
as  well.  It  appeared  childishly  easy.  It  only  took 
a  little  nerve.  There  was  the  tangible  evidence  of 
all  his  speculations  so  far.  He  had  made  five 
thousand  dollars  which  might  just  as  well  have 
been  fifty  thousand. 

Dicky  was  troubled.  He  saw  it  in  a  dozen  little 
ways.  Once  or  twice  he  had  tried  to  draw  him  out, 
but  without  much  success.  The  lad  was  not  the 


274  JOAN  &  CO. 

kind  to  whine  over  what  could  not  be  helped. 
There  was  no  doubt,  however,  but  what  it  had 
to  do  with  this  girl  —  the  girl  he  had  spoken  of 
as  a  princess.  If  as  the  last  big  act  of  his  life  Bur- 
nett could  make  her  a  real  princess  —  that  was 
worth  a  risk.  Dicky  himself  did  not  know  how. 
He  had  had  no  training.  That  was  not  his  fault. 
The  father  was  beginning  to  realize  that  now. 
He  had  made  his  son  what  he  was  —  had  led  him 
on  to  expect  every  wish  to  be  gratified  —  up  to 
this  latest  wish,  the  biggest  one  of  all. 

Perhaps  this  new  reasoning  was  only  born  of 
the  need  of  further  justification  of  the  course  he 
was  pursuing.  If  so,  he  did  not  realize  it.  He 
was  honest  with  himself. 

And,  after  all,  it  was  something  to  have  one's 
heart  pounding  a  bit  faster.  It  took  him  back 
twenty  years  to  the  days  when  it  pounded  like 
this  naturally.  He  called  a  taxi  and  leaned  back 
with  his  thoughts  racing  off  at  all  sorts  of  angles. 

His  mood  was  a  form  of  intoxication.  All  his 
senses  were  for  the  moment  sharpened.  The 
sunlight  appeared  more  golden;  the  sky  bluer. 
He  was  like  a  young  man  upon  an  adventure. 
Strictly  speaking,  it  was  Dicky's  adventure  and 
he  was  taking  it  for  him.  He  was  daring  for  him 
what  he  would  not  dare  for  himself.  By  three 
o'clock  it  might  be  concluded  and  the  day  won. 

So  he  speeded  to  the  offices  of  Toole  &  Co.— 


JOAN  &  CO.  275 

magnificent  offices  presided  over  by  Toole  the 
magnificent.  He  passed  through  the  crowd  begin- 
ning to  gather  in  the  outer  rooms  and  went  direct 
to  the  sacred  inner  room.  Toole,  big  and  optimistic, 
rose  to  greet  him. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Burnett." 

The  first  quotations  were  already  coming  over 
the  private  ticker  and  Burnett  picked  up  the 
tape. 

"How  is  she  opening?" 

"Steel  is  off  a  fraction,"  replied  Toole.  "If  I 
were  you  I  'd  follow  it  down." 

"Eh?  I  'm  in  pretty  heavy  now." 

"I  know  it,  but — well,  I  Ve  been  informed  the 
bears  are  going  to  raid  the  stock  to-day." 

"Supposing  I  sit  tight?" 

"You  can  do  that,  but  —  of  course  you  have 
enough  on  hand  to  bolster  up  your  margin 
account?" 

The  ticker  reported  a  sale  of  six  thousand 
shares  —  off  a  half.  A  second  sale  of  two  thousand 
followed  —  off  another  eight. 

"What  the  deuce  does  that  mean?"  demanded 
Burnett. 

Toole  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  big  ones  are  up  to  something,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  get  out  from  under," 
scowled  Burnett. 


276  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Then  you'd  better  be  quick  about  it,"  ad- 
vised Toole. 

The  next  quotation  was  off  a  full  point  and  the 
sales  on  that  doubled.  If  he  sold  now  it  meant  a 
loss  of  five  thousand  —  all  he  had  made  up  to 
date.  It  came  like  a  challenge. 

"Buy  five  hundred  at  the  market,"  he  ordered. 

Toole  pressed  a  button  on  his  desk  and  a  boy 
jumped  in. 

"Five  hundred  steel  at  the  market,"  he  re- 
peated. "Better  come  back  here  and  stand  by, 
Mr.  Burnett." 

Burnett  signed  the  order  slip  and  the  boy 
went  out. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  Big  Hour  — 
the  hour  when  Burnett  condensed  into  sixty 
minutes  almost  a  lifetime.  Steel  continued  down, 
and  he  followed  it  while  Toole  studied  him,  mak- 
ing, casually,  little  figures  on  a  pad  in  front  of 
him.  At  the  end  of  half  that  time  he  called  for 
more  margin,  and  Burnett  signed  a  check  and  sent 
a  messenger  to  the  bank  with  it.  At  the  end  of 
another  ten  minutes  he  called  for  still  more,  and 
Burnett  in  a  daze  did  what  Toole  asked  of  him. 
Steel  went  down  three  points,  six  points,  ten  points. 
Still,  it  could  not  go  down  forever.  There  must 
come  soon  a  point  where  it  would  stop  and  start 
the  other  way.  Then  — 

In  the  meanwhile  a  young  man  had  stepped 


JOAN  &  CO.  277 

into  the  outer  office  of  Toole  &  Co.  He  wandered 
around  the  board  room  a  few  moments,  looking 
over  the  crowd  as  though  seeking  some  one.  These 
were  all  strange  faces.  He  stepped  up  to  a  clerk 
and  asked  if  Mr.  Burnett  was  here. 

"Don't  know  him,"  replied  the  clerk. 

He  was  very  busy.  Every  one  was  very  busy. 
There  appeared  to  be  a  great  deal  of  excitement 
hereabouts. 

He  finally  stopped  another  clerk. 

"I'd  like  to  see  Mr.  Toole,"  he  said. 

He  handed  him  a  card  and  the  boy  went  off. 
He  returned  in  a  moment  with  the  report  that 
Mr.  Toole  was  very  sorry,  but  he  could  not  see 
him  to-day. 

Dicky  considered  a  moment.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  atmosphere  of  this  place  he  did 
not  like.  There  was  something  about  the  name  of 
Toole  and  the  fact  that  he  was  too  busy  to  be 
seen  that  he  did  not  like.  He  drew  from  his  pocket 
another  card  and  scribbled  across  it  this:  'I  un- 
derstand my  father  is  here.  I  must  see  him  on  a 
very  important  matter." 

He  called  the  clerk  again  and  sent  this  in  to 
Mr.  Toole.  He  waited  five  minutes.  This  time 
Mr.  Toole  himself  appeared  —  Toole  the  mag- 
nificent. He  was  smiling. 

"This  is  Mr.  Burnett?"  he  inquired  as  he 
extended  his  hand. 


278  JOAN  &  CO. 

Dicky  hesitated  somehow  about  accepting  the 
hand.  It  was  large  and  soft  and  white. 

"Yes.  I  came  to  see  my  father." 

"Just  so,"  answered  Toole;  "don't  you  find 
him?" 

He  looked  about  the  room  as  though  joining 
in  the  search. 

"He  is  n't  here,"  said  Dicky,  "but  I  suppose  you 
have  private  offices  ? " 

"Why,  yes,  we  have  private  offices,  but  —  well, 
they  are  private." 

"Is  Mr.  Burnett  in  one  of  them?" 

"He  may  be  or  he  may  not  be,"  replied  Toole. 
"At  any  rate,  it  is  the  policy  of  this  firm  not  to 
interrupt  our  customers." 

"You  understand  he  is  my  father?" 

"I  have  your  word  for  it,"  smiled  Toole. 

"You  understand  I  want  to  see  him  on  an  im- 
portant matter?" 

"I  have  your  word  for  that,  too." 

"Then,"  said  Dicky,  his  face  hardening,  "take 
my  word  for  it  I  'm  going  to  see  him." 

"That  is  assuming  he  is  here." 

"Is  he  here?" 

"I  refuse  to  answer." 

"Then  —  " 

Toole  leaned  closer  to  the  young  man's  ear. 

"  I  would  n't  make  a  scene.  This  is  a  private,  not 
a  public  office.  If  your  father  is  here,  you  may 


JOAN  &  CO.  279 

be  sure  he  received  your  message  and  exercised 
his  right  to  see  you  or  not." 

Dicky  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past 
ten.  After  all,  Forsythe  might  have  made  a  mis- 
take. At  any  rate,  the  safe  thing  to  do  was  to  go 
out  and  telephone  and  make  sure. 

"Thanks,"  replied  Dicky;  "I'll  see  if  Mr.  Bur- 
nett has  returned  to  his  office.  If  he  has  n't  I  '11 
be  back." 

"I  wouldn't  bother,"  replied  Toole. 

Dicky  hurried  to  the  nearest  telephone  and  got 
Forsythe  on  the  wire.  The  man  sounded  excited. 

"I  know  he's  there.  Insist  on  seeing  him. 
Good  God,  you  must  see  him!" 

"Right,"  answered  Dicky;  "if  you  don't  hear 
from  me  in  half  an  hour  ring  up  police  headquarters 
because  there  may  be  a  good-sized  row  develop 
in  the  office  of  Toole  &  Co." 

So  Dicky  went  down  with  his  face  set  this  time 
and  his  eyes  grown  hard.  It  was  almost  eleven! 
He  called  the  clerk  once  again.  This  time  he 
scribbled  on  a  card  this  message  for  Toole;  "I've 
come  back  to  see  my  father.  If  I  don't  get  to  him 
in  five  minutes,  I'm  going  to  start  a  first-class 
rough  house." 

As  the  clerk  went  across  the  board  room  and 
toward  the  inner  office,  Dicky  followed  him.  He 
waited  just  outside  for  his  reply.  Once  again 
Toole  came  out  smiling. 


28o  JOAN  &  CO. 

"  I  'm  sorry  —  "  he  began. 

Dicky  lowered  his  head  a  little  as  for  a  line 
plunge  and  bolted  past  him.  His  shoulder  took 
Toole  in  the  pit  of  his  rotund  stomach,  which  was 
perhaps  why  the  man  made  no  immediate  reply. 
He  saw  his  father  slumped  down  in  a  chair  near 
the  ticker,  his  head  in  his  hand. 

Burnett  senior  made  his  feet  unsteadily. 

"Dicky,"  he  trembled,  "Dicky,  they've  got  me. 
They  Ve  cleaned  me  out." 

"So?"  answered  Dicky.  "Then  take  my  arm. 
I  guess  it 's  time  to  get  out  of  here." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  STRAIGHT  TIP 

JOAN  obeyed  the  message  she  had  received 
at  the  office  from  Devons  to  the  extent  of 
going  back  home  and  waiting  there  two  hours  for 
him.  She  spent  most  of  this  time  in  her  room 
within  arm's  reach  of  the  telephone,  expecting 
every  second  the  jangling  bell  to  summon  her. 
But  the  thing  remained  silent — ominously  silent. 
Then,  unable  to  control  herself  further,  she  ven- 
tured to  ring  up  the  office.  It  was  Miss  Manning 
who  answered  with  the  businesslike  announce- 
ment, "The  Devons  Manufacturing  Company." 

"Has  Mr.  Devons  come  in  yet?" 

"No,"  was  the  curt  reply.  "Do  you  wish  to 
leave  any  message?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Joan. 

She  replaced  the  receiver  on  its  hook  with  a 
snap. 

It  was  foolish  of  her  to  be  irritated.  For  the  last 
few  days  she  had  struggled  with  a  correspondence 
that  had  served  her  fair  notice  that  it  was  getting 
beyond  her  mediocre  ability.  Down  deep  in  her 
heart  she  had  anticipated  the  necessity  of  turning 
over  part  of  the  work  to  more  experienced  hands. 
But  not  the  whole  of  it.  An  assistant  was  the  most 


282  JOAN  &  CO. 

she  had  contemplated.  And  now  Devons  had 
ordered  her  home  like  a  discharged  clerk  and  with- 
out consultation  had  filled  her  place.  She  was 
entitled,  at  least,  to  the  customary  two  weeks' 
notice.  She  felt  humiliated.  She  had  been  trying 
very,  very  hard  to  make  good  —  harder  than 
Mark  Devons  suspected.  As  the  first  really 
serious  undertaking  of  her  life,  she  had  felt  as 
though  her  success  or  failure  were  in  the  nature 
of  a  test. 

Going  back  to  the  beginning  she  had  some 
reason  to  feel  proud.  It  had  all  been  new  to  her! 
He  should  remember  that.  Until  she  entered  the 
office  of  the  Devons  Manufacturing  Company 
she  had  never  been  inside  a  business  office.  The 
financial  world  had  been  as  vague  as  the  Govern- 
ment world  designated  by  the  initials  U.S.A.  on 
mail  pouches  and  uniforms.  It  existed  she  knew,  and 
she  had  once  taken  a  course  in  civil  government 
so  that  she  was  not  wholly  ignorant,  but  it  went 
on  year  after  year  without  in  any  way  involving 
her.  In  the  same  way  men  and  women  went  down- 
town to  their  various  tasks  in  the  morning  with- 
out in  any  way  interfering  with  her  private  life. 

Suddenly  she  had  joined  those  who  went 
downtown  in  the  morning  and  had  done  her 
level  best  to  learn  what  they  did  and  to  fulfill 
her  own  little  function  among  them.  She  had 
done  this  joyously,  proudly,  and  little  by  little 


JOAN  &  CO.  283 

with  more  experience,  and  always  with  the  feeling 
that  the  man  in  the  long  linen  duster  spattered 
with  acid  holes  was  fully  appreciative  of  her 
efforts. 

To  be  sure,  he  did  not  say  very  much.  That 
was  not  his  way.  He  attended  to  his  business  and 
left  her  to  attend  to  hers.  That  was  how  he  could 
praise  her  best.  He  turned  over  to  her  absolutely 
the  responsibility  of  the  books  and  the  typewrit- 
ing. And  sometimes  he  glanced  up  and  smiled  as 
though  in  encouragement. 

Here  in  her  room  she  felt  her  cheeks  crimson 
at  the  memory  of  his  eyes  upon  her.  It  was  as 
though  he  said  at  such  times,  "Well  done,  partner." 

Of  course,  there  was  nothing  personal  about 
their  relations.  That  is,  she  was  quite  sure  there 
was  nothing  personal.  She  tried,  at  any  rate,  to 
keep  that  quite  strongly  in  mind.  Perhaps  at  this 
moment  it  was  more  necessary  than  ever.  But 
she  wondered  if  he  was  not  going  to  miss  her  out 
of  the  office  as  —  well,  as  she  had  to  admit  she 
was  missing  him.  This  subject  of  personal  relation- 
ships was  a  broad  one  and,  of  course,  in  their 
case  it  did  differ  somewhat  from  the  usual  em- 
ployer and  employee  type.  He  had  been  here  in 
her  house,  for  one  thing,  and  she  had  seen  him  as 
a  man  first  rather  than  as  an  employer.  He  had 
been  just  Mark  Devons  for  several  weeks  before 
he  became  president  of  the  Devons  Manufacturing 


284  JOAN  &  CO. 

Company.  It  was  she  who  had  helped  him  to  the 
latter  position  —  she  and  Dicky. 

For  a  moment  her  thoughts  switched  off  to 
Dicky.  She  had  not  heard  from  him  for  a  week  or 
more  —  not  since  in  her  last  letter  to  him  in  the 
South  she  had  informed  him  that  she  was  too 
busy  to  reply  at  length  to  his  letters.  She  wished, 
almost,  he  were  back  in  town.  She  would  rather 
like  to  see  him.  And  yet  if  he  learned  of  her  dis- 
charge he  might  laugh.  Her  brows  came  together 
and  unceremoniously  and  altogether  unjustly  she 
proceeded  to  thrust  him  out  of  her  mind. 

After  all,  she  was  assuming  too  much  about  her 
present  position  and  Miss  Manning,  considering 
that  she  had  not  all  the  facts.  It  was  as  if  to  em- 
phasize this  conclusion  that  at  this  instant  the 
telephone  rang.  Yet  it  was  neither  Miss  Manning 
nor  Mark  Devons  who  called  for  her.  It  was  a 
strange  voice. 

"Tliis  is  Miss  Fairburne?"  he  inquired. 

She  answered  almost  as  curtly  as  Miss  Manning 
herself  might  have  done. 

"Yes." 

"I  rang  up  the  office  for  you  and  was  told  I 
would  find  you  at  home." 

"Yes?" 

"I  won't  give  you  my  name  because  it  would  n't 
mean  anything  to  you.  But  I  'm  a  newspaper 


JOAN  &  CO.  285 

She  waited.  She  associated  newspaper  men  with 
scandals  and  tragedies. 

"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  if  any  one  tries 
to  use  unfairly  a  story  I  wrote  about  you  —  " 

"A  what?"  she  gasped. 

"  Something  I  wrote  for  the  Sunday  paper.  If  any 
one  tries  to  put  anything  over  with  it,  just  tell  'em 
you  Ve  talked  with  me  and  that  it  won't  go." 

"But  I  don't  understand." 

"You  need  n't  understand  anything  more  than 
that.  How  long  you  been  away  from  the  office?" 

"All  the  morning,"  she  answered. 

"Then  if  I  were  you  I  'd  get  back  there.  And, 
remember,  just  say  the  man  who  wrote  the  yarn 
is  going  to  kill  it." 

"Please,"  she  trembled,  "can't  you  tell  me 
more?" 

"That's  enough.  Get  back.  You're  too  good  a 
sport  to  hurt." 

"But—" 

"Good  luck." 

With  that  the  receiver  was  hung  up. 

When  Joan  swung  open  the  office  door  and 
stepped  in,  it  was  like  a  scene  from  a  melodrama. 
Devons  and  Forsythe,  both  pale  and  evidently 
very  much  excited,  were  facing  each  other.  They 
were  as  tense  and  alert  as  two  wild  animals  about 
to  spring  at  each  other's  throats.  Unconsciously 


286  JOAN  &  CO. 

Joan  looked  about  for  Miss  Manning,  as  though 
seeking  support.  She  was  not  there.  The  two  men 
were  alone.  They  both  swung  toward  the  door 
in  challenge  of  the  intruder.  Then  quickly  Devons 
strode  forward. 

"Joan ! "  he  exclaimed, "  what  brought  you  down 
here?" 

"You  were  to  telephone  me  and  you  did  n't," 
she  answered. 

"I  know,  but —  in  an  hour.  You  '11  go  back  to 
the  house  now?" 

"I  think  I'd  rather  wait  here,"  she  decided. 

"You  must  n't.  This  man  "  —  he  spoke  as  though 
he  meant  "this  thing"  —  "I  must  see  him  alone." 

"Why  alone?" 

"He  has  some  business  —  some  very  confidential 
business  with  me."  He  took  her  arm  as  though  to 
escort  her  out. 

But  she  resisted. 

"If  it's  business,  haven't  I  a  right  to  be 
consulted?"  she  asked.  She  turned  to  Forsythe. 
"Mr.  Devons  and  I  are  partners,"  she  explained. 

"So  I  understand,"  he  nodded. 

"So  you  see  what  concerns  him  also  concerns 
me." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  moved  to 
the  center  of  the  room.  In  a  silent  appeal  Devons 
lifted  his  eyes  to  Forsythe.  What  the  latter  saw 
gave  him  a  sense  of  advantage.  If  he,  too,  had  at 


JOAN  &  CO.  287 

first  resented  the  interruption,  he  now  saw  it  in  a 
different  light.  Speaking  directly  to  Devons  he  said : 

"We  had  nearly  finished,  had  we  not?  There 
was  some  unfortunate  delay  about  the  check, 
but  surely  you  will  trust  me  until  to-morrow.  In 
the  meanwhile,  if  you  will  sign  the  contract  it 
will  enable  me  to  leave  at  once." 

The  last  few  words  were  what  Devons  snatched 
at.  Forsythe  would  leave  at  once  if  the  contract 
was  signed.  At  the  moment  any  price  seemed  small 
if  it  would  clear  the  room  of  the  man.  Standing 
there  with  his  eyes  upon  Joan,  he  magnified  a 
hundredfold  the  hideousness  of  what  Forsythe 
had  just  threatened.  It  was  as  though  the  latter 
in  his  own  person  represented  that  American 
public  who  would  feast  with  ghoulish  eyes  upon 
those  pictures  of  her  in  the  Sunday  paper.  The 
evil  smile  about  the  man's  coarse  lips  would,  if 
he  did  not  act  now,  be  multiplied  soon  into  a 
hundred  thousand  such  smiles.  He  would  have 
struck  Forsythe  down  at  this  moment  would  it 
have  done  any  good.  But  if  he  killed  him  he 
would  be  extinguishing  only  one  of  those  smiles  — 
only  one  out  of  thousands.  Worse  —  it  would 
only  add  further  point  to  the  story.  It  would 
seem  to  justify  it  and  give  it  an  importance  that 
would  send  it  speeding  over  the  whole  wide  world. 
He  must  keep  himself  very  steady. 
L  "Let  me  have  the  paper,"  said  Devons. 


288  JOAN  &  CO. 

Eagerly  Forsythe  drew  it  from  an  inside  pocket 
and  handed  it  over.  At  the  same  moment  he  pro- 
duced a  fountain  pen  and  unscrewed  the  cap. 

"Miss  Fairburne  will  serve  as  witness,"  he 
suggested. 

"Certainly,"  she  agreed.  "Of  course  I  may  read 
the  paper  first." 

Before  Devons  was  aware  of  her  intention  she 
took  it  from  his  nervous  fingers  and  stepped  a 
little  away.  He  followed  with  an  exclamation: 

"  It  is  n't  necessary  for  you  to  read  it." 

She  held  it  behind  her  back,  meeting  his  eyes 
steadily. 

"  I  'm  quite  sure  it  is.  Dad  has  often  told  me 
never  to  sign  a  paper  without  first  reading  it." 

"But  you  are  to  be  only  a  witness." 

"To  what?" 

Devons  turned  back  again  to  Forsythe. 

"It's  merely  a  contract  for  a  sale  of  the  busi- 
ness," he  tried  to  assure  her.  "Mr.  Devons  appre- 
ciates the  fact  that  a  larger  organization  is  in  a 
better  position  to  handle  —  " 

But  without  listening  further  she  broke  in: 

"Sale?  You  are  selling  the  business,  Mark 
Devons?" 

"It —  it  seemed  the  best  thing  to  do." 

"You  are  selling  —  our  business?"  she  repeated. 

"If  you  understood!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  think  I'm  beginning  to  understand,"  she 


JOAN  &  CO.  289 

returned.  "But  it  does  n't  seem  fair  to  make  me 
fumble  around  in  the  dark." 

"  It 's  a  simple  business  proposition,"  broke  in 
Forsythe. 

"I  wonder,"  she  replied.  She  turned  away  from 
him.  "You  said  nothing  of  this  yesterday,  Mark." 

"No." 

"Then  your  decision  came  suddenly?" 

It  was  Forsythe,  whose  mind  seemed  to  be  work- 
ing more  nimbly  than  Devons's,  who  supplied 
the  answer. 

"Only  because  the  offer  came  suddenly,"  he 
said.  "  It 's  one  of  those  things  where  quick  action 
is  necessary." 

But  she  in  her  reply  ignored  Forsythe  entirely. 

"Tell  me  a  little  more  about  it,"  she  pleaded. 

"He  —  he  made  me  a  cash  offer  and  I  accepted 
it,"  he  answered.  "That 's  all  there  is  to  it  except 
that  the  sooner  I  sign  the  contract,  the  sooner 
we  are  rid  of  him." 

"How  much  was  his  offer?"  she  asked. 

Devons  hesitated,  but  there  was  no  escaping 
from  her  eyes. 

"Twenty-five  thousand,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"But  that's  absurd!"  she  exclaimed. 

"There  were  other  considerations,"  put  in  For- 
sythe hurriedly. 

Devons  started.  He_  turned  toward  Forsythe 
with  clenched  fists. 


290  JOAN  &  CO. 

"And  these  were?"  inquired  Joan. 

"I  find  myself  in  a  position  to  do  him  a  certain 
service." 

"It  must  be  a  very  valuable  service,  indeed." 

"I  think  he  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is,"  re- 
turned Forsythe. 

"You  will  tell  me  what  that  is,  Mark  ? "  she  asked. 

"No,  no  — I  can't." 

"Then  you  will,  Mr.  Forsythe." 

"If  you  do,"  breathed  Devons,  "so  help  me 
God  —  " 

Joan  placed  her  hand  upon  Devons's  arm. 

"Steady,"  she  warned.  "I  think  I  know  already 
a  good  deal  about  it.  You  are  both  referring  to  a 
newspaper  article  —  " 

"Then  he  has  told  you?"  demanded  Devons. 

"Mr.  Forsythe?  No.  I  learned  about  it  —  quite 
by  chance.  But  now  I  demand  to  be  allowed  to 
see  it." 

"Impossible!"  gasped  Devons. 

"I  demand  it  as  my  right,"  she  repeated 
steadily. 

Forsythe  smiled  again  —  viciously,  cynically. 

"It  might  save  us  from  further  delay,  Devons," 
he  said. 

"Joan,"  pleaded  Devons,  "don't  ask  to  see  it." 

"It  is  my  right." 

She  was  magnificent.  More  than  ever  now  she 
looked  like  a  princess.  Her  head  was  up  and  her 


JOAN  &  CO.  291 

clear  eyes  challenged  the  world.  Her  lips,  like  those 
of  a  child,  were  firm  like  those  of  a  woman.  But 
just  because  of  this  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
stand  firm  by  her  side  and  save  her  from  hurt. 

"If  you  will  let  me  sign,"  he  urged,  "then  I  can 
tear  up  the  other.  So  it  will  be  as  though  it  had 
never  been." 

"It  will  never  be  like  that  until  I  have  seen  it," 
she  answered.  She  held  her  hand  toward  Devons. 
"Let  us  have  it  over  with,"  she  said. 

It  was  like  an  order.  It  was  like  an  order  from 
the  throne.  It  was  as  though  he  were  deprived  of 
all  further  choice  in  the  matter.  It  was  her  affair 
now  —  not  his.  She  demanded  as  her  right  and 
he  dared  not  refuse.  The  moment  she  learned  of 
the  existence  of  this  manuscript  it  became  hers  — 
like  a  letter  that  has  been  mailed.  And  yet  he  would 
have  gone  back  to  the  day  when  he  had  stumbled 
out  of  Arkwright's  room  hungry  and  alone,  to 
have  warded  off  the  blow.  He  would  have  wiped 
her  out  of  his  life  as  though  she  had  never  been, 
to  have  saved  her  from  this.  As  much  as  she  meant 
to  him  now  —  as  much  as  the  future  meant  to  him 
—  he  would  have  done  that. 

"I  am  waiting." 

It  was  her  voice  again.  He  drew  the  photographs 
and  typewritten  manuscript  from  his  pocket. 

"Some  day,"  he  said,  —  "some  day  I'll  make 
the  men  who  did  this  suifer." 


*9*  JOAN  &  CO. 

She  took  the  packet  from  him  and  opened  it. 
Forsythe,  his  eyes  squinting,  watched  her.  He 
saw  the  color  spring  to  the  girl's  cheeks;  saw  her 
breath  come  faster;  saw  her,  as  he  thought, 
cringe.  And  yet  her  fingers  remained  steady.  He 
did  not  like  that.  When  she  finished,  she  raised 
her  eyes  first  to  him  —  then  to  Devons  who  had 
half  turned  away  from  her. 

"This  is  all  of  it?"  she  asked. 

"Good  Lord!  Isn't  that  enough?"  choked 
Devons. 

"It's  sort  of  a  silly  thing,"  she  said. 

Devons  snatched  it  from  her  fingers.  He  tore 
it  across  and  then  into  little  bits. 

"Now  let  me  have  the  contract,"  he  ordered. 
"I  want  to  get  this  done  with." 

"That  was  only  a  copy,"  Forsythe  reminded  him. 

"I  have  your  word  that  the  original  will  be 
destroyed,  too?" 

"I  will  do  my  best." 

"Then  —  "  began  Devons,  reaching  again  for 
the  contract  she  still  held  in  her  hand. 

She  moved  a  little  back  and,  as  he  had  torn  the 
manuscript,  tore  the  contract  —  once  across  and 
then  into  little  bits.  She  did  it  quite  unemotionally 
and  facing  the  two  men.  Forsythe  was  the  first 
to  recover.  He  stepped  toward  her. 

"You  did  that  in  ignorance  —  just  plain  fool 
ignorance,"  he  growled.  "It  will  cost  you  big." 


JOAN  &  CO.  293 

"I  doubt  it,"  she  answered.  "But  if  it's  necessary 
to  pay,  I  will  pay,  Mr.  Forsythe." 

"You  must  n't  listen  to  her,"  cut  in  Devons. 
"  She  —  she  does  n't  know.  This  is  between  you 
and  me,  Forsythe.  You  will  make  out  another 
contract  and  I  '11  sign  it." 

"If  you  do  I  shall  consult  my  father's  lawyer," 
she  answered.  "Surely  I  must  have  some  interest 
in  the  business.  If  so  my  signature  is  necessary, 
too.  Remember  we  are  partners,  Mark." 

"You  have  partnership  papers?"  demanded 
Forsythe,  paling  a  little. 

"That  is  our  affair,"  she  replied. 

"If  true,  it  would  add  interest  to  the  news 
story,"  suggested  Forsythe. 

The  phrase  served  its  purpose  in  arousing 
Devons  once  more. 

"We  have  no  agreement  in  writing,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"Then,"  smiled  Forsythe,  recovering  some  of 
his  former  assurance,  —  "then  I  don't  see  why 
we  can't  finish  our  business  without  the  help  of 
Miss  Fairburne.  I  can  write  out  a  little  memoran- 
dum that  will  serve  until  we  replace  the  formal 
contract  which  the  young  lady  destroyed." 

He  stepped  to  the  desk  in  the  corner  —  her 
desk.  Devons  followed. 

"Mark,"  she  called. 

He  turned. 


294  JOAN  &  CO. 

"You  are  letting  him  make  a  great  deal  out  of 
nothing,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  see  that  any  great 
harm  would  be  done  if  the  story  were  printed. 
I  don't  like  to  allow  him  to  think  I  stand  in  fear 
of  any  such  trifle.  But  —  it  won't  be  printed." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Devons. 

"Before  I  came  down  here  I  had  a  telephone 
from  the  man  who  wrote  the  article.  He  promised 
that  if  any  attempt  were  made  to  use  it  unjustly  he 
would  tear  it  up  himself." 

Forsythe  struggled  to  his  feet.  "I  don't  believe 
you,"  he  choked. 

Devons  made  for  him  with  a  lunging  blow. 
But  before  he  could  follow  it  with  a  second,  Joan 
had  reached  him. 

"He  is  n't  worth  it,"  she  pleaded. 

Devons  held  himself  with  difficulty.  Joan  turned 
to  Forsythe.  "Perhaps  you  had  better  leave  at 
once,"  she  suggested. 

"It  isn't  true,"  repeated  Forsythe.  "You'll 
make  a  mistake  if  you  believe  her,  Devons." 

But  at  the  same  moment  he  began  to  edge  to- 
ward the  door.  As  he  reached  it  he  paused. 

"  It 's  your  last  chance,"  he  trembled. 

"Not  his  but  yours,"  she  answered.  "I  —  I 
can't  hold  him  much  longer." 

Then  Devons  made  for  him  once  again  and 
Forsythe  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

BANKRUPT 

DICKY  led  his  father  through  the  outer 
office  of  Toole  &  Co.  and  out  to  the  street. 
The  man  bore  heavily  on  his  arm.  In  spite  of 
that  Dicky  said,  "I  guess  we'd  better  walk  a 
little."  So  he  led  him  for  the  matter  of  a  block  or 
so  in  the  noonday  sunshine  before  calling  a  taxi. 

"It's  a  good  day  for  golf,"  said  Dicky.  "If 
it's  like  this  to-morrow  I  guess  we'll  have  to  take 
our  first  lesson." 

Burnett  senior  lifted  his  heavy  head  a  moment. 
"Son,"  he  said,  "did  you  understand  what  I 
told  you?" 

"Sure,"  answered  Dicky.  "You  said  they  had 
done  you  up." 

"I've  lost  everything — everything  and  more." 

"Well,  forget  it,"  replied  Dicky  cheerfully.  "It 
was  only  a  question  of  time,  anyway.  Just  as  well 
to  have  it  done  quickly  and  over  with.  I'll  bet 
Toole  has  a  sore  spot  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
pit  of  his  stomach." 

"But,  Dicky  —  you  don't  understand  yet," 
faltered  Burnett. 

"You  played  and  lost — isn't  that  all  there  is 
to  it?" 


296  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  drew  all  I  had  from  the  bank,  I  tell  you. 
And  I'm  short  two  hundred  thousand." 

"Just  so.  We'll  have  to  raise  that  on  the  house 
and  business.  I'll  attend  to  that  later.  The  thing 
for  you  to  do  now  is  to  come  home  and  see  mother. 
You  Ve  done  enough  for  one  day." 

Burnett  cringed. 

"What  can  I  say  to  her!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Tell  her  the  truth,  that's  all,"  answered 
Dicky.  "You  don't  need  to  worry  about  her." 

Burnett  stumbled. 

"Put  your  weight  on  my  arm,"  said  Dicky. 
But  at  the  same  time  he  raised  his  ringer  to  a  pass- 
ing taxi,  and  as  it  drew  up  to  the  walk  helped  his 
father  in.  The  man  slumped  into  the  corner  like 
some  lifeless  thing. 

"Come,"  warned  Dicky,  "this  won't  do.  We 
can't  let  mother  see  us  like  this.  She'll  think  some- 
thing really  serious  has  happened." 

Burnett  groaned. 

"It— it  will  kill  her." 

"What  will  kill  her?"  demanded  Dicky. 

"Good  Lord!"  snapped  Burnett,  "don't  you 
understand  yet?  I'm  bankrupt,  I  tell  you." 

Dicky  placed  his  hand  gently  on  his  father's 
shoulder. 

"That's  the  stuff,"  he  encouraged.  "You  got 
§ome  of  the  old  ring  in  your  voice  that  time. 
Buck  up  and  keep  it  there.  There's  a  good  old 


JOAN  &  CO.  297 

sport  down  deep  in  you  and  that 's  the  man  we  Ve 
got  to  show  mother.  I  '11  miss  my  guess  if  she  cares 
two  straws  whether  youVe  lost  your  money  or 
not,  but  if  she  finds  you've  lost  your  nerve  — 
she  '11  take  that  hard.  She's  come  sort  of  to  depend 
on  that." 

Burnett  pulled  himself  together  and  sat  up. 
He  met  his  son's  eyes. 

"Forty  years  of  labor  gone  in  a  forenoon.  It's  a 
whole  lot  lost,  son." 

"A  whole  lot  of  money,"  nodded  Dicky.  "They 
certainly  trimmed  you  good.  But  after  all,  they 
did  n't  get  the  best  part  of  that  forty  years. 
Even  Toole  couldn't  reach  that.  It's  up  to  you 
to  save  the  rest/' 

"The  rest?" 

"The  fun  you  had  piling  it  up  —  even  the  fun 
you  had  gambling  with  it." 

"Eh?" 

"You  had  your  hour,"  grinned  Dicky. 

"It  pulled  the  heart  out  of  me." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  Just  now  you're  feeling 
the  reaction.  But  you  '11  get  over  that  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  it  may  be  the  making  of  you.  You've 
been  working  too  hard  for  a  year.  The  business 
has  been  taking  out  of  you  little  by  little  all  that 
makes  life  worth  living.  It  has  been  eating  into 
your  health  and  your  time.  Now  old  Dr.  Toole 
has  remedied  all  that.  Sort  of  heroic  treatment, 


298  JOAN  &  CO. 

but  maybe  that 's  what  you  needed.  You  would  n't 
listen  to  anything  I  said." 

"You  —  you  mean  about  the  pumpkin  pie?" 

"That's  one  thing,"  admitted  Dicky.  "Then 
about  golf— " 

"Damn  golf!"  growled  Burnett. 

"Steady  there,"  warned  Dicky.  "You're  going 
to  have  time  now  for  that  —  you  and  mother. 
I  have  a  notion  it  would  do  her  good  too." 

"How  do  you  figure  I'm  going  to  have  time?" 
demanded  Burnett. 

"With  no  business  to  attend  to  —  " 

"Eh?  "choked  Burnett. 

"If  you're  in  as  bad  as  you  say  you  are,  you'll 
have  to  cash  in  all  your  assets,  won't  you?" 

"The  business?"  Burnett's  fists  clenched.  For 
a  second  his  old  fighting  face  came  back.  "We'll 
have  to  pull  that  out  somehow,"  he  said,  as  though 
to  himself.  "Good Lord!  Why,  Dicky,  what  would 
become  of  you  ?  I  built  that  up  for  you.  I  —  I 
tried  to  double  what  I  had  for  you  —  for  you  and 
for  her." 

Dicky  turned  swiftly. 

"You  what?" 

"It  was  for  you  and  the  princess,"  said  Burnett. 
"I  —  I  wanted  to  make  you  worth  while  for 
her." 

Dicky  caught  his  breath. 

"For  me  and  the  princess,"  he  repeated.  Then 


JOAN  &  CO.  299 

in  the  cab  he  felt  for  his  father's  hand.  "You 
took  that  chance  for  me  and  her?" 

"You  said  you  were  n't  worth  enough  for  her. 
So  —  " 

Dicky  had  to  gulp  hard  once  or  twice.  Then 
his  fingers  closed  over  his  father's  fingers. 

"You  old  brick,"  he  trembled.  "But  I  — I 
did  n't  mean  it  that  way.  If  I  had  forty  million 
it  would  be  just  the  same.  But  it 's  worth  to  me 
what  you  lost  to  know  what  you  lost  it  for." 

"Only  if  I'd  won!"  exclaimed  Burnett. 

"We  might  all  be  worse  off  than  we  are  now," 
declared  Dicky.  "Anyhow,  that  chance  has  gone 
and  so  —  "  The  cab  had  stopped  before  the  door. 
"The  thing  for  us  both  to  do  is  to  be  good  sports 
before  mother.  Are  you  game?" 

"Right,"  nodded  Burnett. 

It  was  the  clasp  of  the  boy's  hand  that  had  given 
him  a  new  lease  of  life.  He  had  expected  the  lat- 
ter to  take  it  hard,  but  instead  of  that  he  had  seen 
a  flash  of  something  in  his  eyes  he  had  never  seen 
there  before.  He  went  into  the  house  still  leaning 
heavily  on  Dicky's  arm,  but  with  his  head  up. 

The  mere  fact  that  the  two  were  returning  home 
to  lunch  was  in  itself  enough  to  arouse  Mrs. 
Burnett's  suspicions.  But  she  did  not  need  even 
that  clue.  Her  quick,  tender  eyes  had  studied  her 
husband's  face  too  many  years  to  be  fooled  by 
any  acting  he  might  attempt,  or  any  acting  Dicky 


300  JOAN  &  CO. 

might  attempt  either.  She  came  down  hurriedly 
from  upstairs  the  moment  she  heard  their  voices 
and  confronted  them  at  once  with  the  question; 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Dad  and  I  just  thought  we'd  surprise  you  by 
coming  home  to  lunch,"  replied  Dicky. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  repeated. 

"Why  —  er~" 

It  was  easier  said  than  done,  this  telling  her  the 
truth.  Dicky  turned  to  his  father,  but  the  latter 
only  raised  appealing  eyes  to  him.  She  looked 
very  frail  at  that  moment. 

"Something  has  happened!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Tell  me,  Dicky." 

"Why,  it  is  n't  anything  to  get  frightened  over." 
Dicky  stumbled  on,  "Dad  here  —  well,  he  took 
a  shot  at  the  market  and  lost." 

"Everything,"  put  in  Burnett,  as  though  anx- 
ious to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  it  at  once. 

Mrs.  Burnett  relaxed  instantly. 

"Is  —  is  that  all?"  she  answered.  She  stepped 
to  her  husband's  side.  His  head  was  beginning  to 
droop  again.  "Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  thought 
it  was  something  terrible.  I  thought  you  had  had 
a  shock." 

Dicky  grinned  as  he  slapped  his  father's  back. 
"What  did  I  tell  you?"  he  demanded.  "Isn't 
she  the  old  sport?"  ,  4 

"Mother,"  said  Burnett,  "they  cleaned  me  out." 


JOAN  &  CO.  301 

"Did  n't  leave  him  a  shoestring,"  nodded  Dicky. 
"Can  you  beat  it?" 

Shyly  she  tucked  her  hand  within  her  husband's. 

"As  long  as  they  did  n't  take  you,  Joshua," 
she  trembled. 

"  I  guess  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  had," 
he  answered. 

"Hush,"  she  whispered  as  she  led  him  into  the 
sitting-room. 

And  Dicky  with  a  load  off  his  shoulders  backed 
her  up  now  enthusiastically. 

"  It 's  going  to  leave  him  time  to  enjoy  life  a  little, 
eh?  As  soon  as  you  begin  to  get  out  and  exercise, 
you  can  eat  all  the  pumpkin  pie  you  want,  Dad. 
It 's  the  men  who  sit  around  in  offices  that  have  to 
be  careful  of  their  diet.  If  you  could  have  seen  the 
way  at  Palm  Beach  some  of  those  old  codgers 
fed  up  after  a  round  of  golf  in  the  morning,  you  'd 
have  envied  them.  Got  anything  to  eat  in  the  house, 
Mother?" 

"  I  guess  we  can  find  something,"  she  smiled. 

"I've  had  a  strenuous  morning,"  he  explained. 
"You  take  care  of  dad  while  I  go  upstairs  a  mo- 
ment." 

He  went  up  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  enter- 
ing his  room  was  careful  to  close  the  door  behind 
him.  Then  he  sat  down  before  the  telephone  and 
called  up  the  offices  of  the  Burnett  Manufacturing 
Company. 


302  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  Forsythe,"  he  announced. 
He  scarcely  recognized  the  man's  voice  as  he  an- 
swered. "  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  to  hold  off  on 
that  new  deal  for  a  day  or  two,"  he  began. 

"I  wanted  to  talk  that  over  with  your  father 
at  once,"  answered  Forsythe.  "  It  did  n't  go  through 
the  way  I  thought  it  would.  Where  is  Mr.  Bur- 
nett?" 

"He's  at  home,"  replied  Dicky.  "He's  going 
to  stay  at  home  for  a  while." 

"Can  I  see  him  at  the  house?" 

"No,"  said  Dicky. 

"But  look  here  —  this  is  serious.  I  spoke  of 
twenty-five  thousand.  It  looks  now  as  though  we 
might  have  to  raise  four  times  that." 

"Eh?" 

"We've  got  to  buy  that  new  process,  no  matter 
what  it  costs.  If  we  don't  we'll  be  put  out  of  busi- 
ness in  six  months." 

Dicky  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead. 

"That  so?" 

"I've  got  to  talk  it  over  with  your  father,  I 
tell  you.  Every  day  we  wait  is  going  to  make  it 
harder." 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars,  you  said?" 

"Perhaps  more.  The  point  is,  we've  got  to  have 
it." 

"Look  here,  Forsythe,"  began  Dicky,  "that's  a 
lot  of  money  under  the  present  circumstances." 


JOAN  &  CO.  303 

"The  present  circumstances?"  inquired  For- 
sythe. 

"The  fact  is,  dad  has  got  in  kind  of  bad  on  the 
market." 

"Good  God!"  choked  Forsythe. 

"I'm  going  to  see  his  lawyer  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  away,  but,  to  speak  frankly,  it  looks  bad. 
Your  friend  Toole  led  him  into  deep  water." 

"  You  mean  — " 

"It  will  take  about  all  he  has  to  square  himself. 
I  have  n't  been  able  to  go  into  details  with  him 
yet,  but  I  guess  there  is  n't  much  doubt  he  '11 
have  to  scrape  together  every  cent  he  can  raise 
in  and  out  of  the  business." 

"He  — he's  bankrupt?" 

"Practically." 

"Then  he'll  drag  us  all  down!" 

Dicky  resented  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  all  of  us?" 

"You  and  me  and  —  why,  he  was  a  damn  fool!" 

"Look  here,  Forsythe!" 

"I  mean  it,"  Forsythe  ran  on  wildly.  "If  he 
had  held  off  another  week  —  " 

"I'd  cut  out  that  kind  of  talk  if  I  were  you." 

"I  backed  him  with  every  cent  I  had  in  the  world. 
I  have  a  right  to  talk.  I  —  " 

But  at  this  point  Dicky  quite  unceremoniously 
hung  up  the  receiver.  There  was  not  much  use 
in  talking  over  the  telephone  to  a  man  in  his 


3o4  JOAN  &  CO. 

condition.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  not  in  the 
slightest  sorry  for  him.  He  had  never  liked  the 
man.  The  way  he  wore  his  hair  was  against  him, 
and  his  friends  Toole  and  the  others  were  against 
him. 


A 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

DISCHARGED 

S  soon  as  Forsythe  went  out,  Joan  closed  the 
door  and  stood  with  her  back  against  it  fac- 
ing Devons. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "can't  we  forget  the  whole 
incident  and  go  on  with  our  work?" 

Devons  looked  up  at  her.  He  was  breathing  a 
little  rapidly  and  his  face  was  flushed. 

"  It  is  n't  right  for  you  to  be  mixed  up  in  such 
miserable  affairs,"  he  answered. 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"I  didn't  mind,"  she  assured  him.  "It  was 
rather  exciting.  It  was  a  little  bit  like  a  play, 
wasn't  it?" 

"With  you  as  the  heroine,"  he  said.  "You 
fought  him  single-handed  and  won.  Only  —  don't 
you  see  I  can't  let  you  take  the  risk  again?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  come  back  again." 

"Not  Forsythe,  perhaps,  but  there  are  others. 
The  city  is  full  of  them  —  of  men  and  women 
eager  to  give  an  evil  turn  to  situations  of  this 
sort.  I  did  n't  think  of  it  until  Forsythe  opened 
my  eyes.  I  can  thank  him  for  that  much.  You 
see,  Joan,  —  you  don't  belong  down  here.  That's 
the  truth  and  every  one  knows  it." 


306  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Mark!  "she  cried. 

"You 're  a  Fairburne,"  he  ran  on.  "Your  mother 
reminded  me  of  that  once,  and  it  did  n't  mean 
very  much  then.  We  from  the  West  are  apt  to 
laugh  at  names.  We're  apt  to  scorn  them,  because 
out  there  a  lot  of  us  have  n't  names  that  mean  very 
much.  But  here  it 's  different.  New  York  is  n't 
the  West,  after  all.  And  a  name  like  yours  gives 
you  certain  privileges  and  demands  certain  obli- 
gations. It 's  sort  of  a  sacred  thing  to  be  guarded. 
And  a  man  —  if  he  thinks  a  great  deal,  a  very 
great  deal  of  the  woman  back  of  the  name  —  has 
to  shoulder  those  obligations.  Joan  —  don't  you 
understand?" 

He  had  stepped  closer  to  her.  His  eyes  were  on 
fire. 

"This  does  n't  sound  like  you,"  she  answered. 

"Because,"  he  went  on  breathlessly,  —  "  because 
I'm  saying  things  now  I  Ve  fought  back  for  weeks 
—  fought  back  because  I  had  no  right  to  say  them. 
But  this  last  hour  has  changed  everything.  You 
have  been  so  magnificent  —  so  wonderful,  Joan.  I 
was  ready  to  sell  out  to  Forsythe  —  to  take  the 
little  he  would  give  me,  cancel  my  debts,  and  go 
back  home  with  my  share  of  what  was  left.  It 
was  all  I  could  do  to  save  you  from  the  danger 
I  'd  led  you  into.  That  meant  leaving  you  and  for- 
getting you.  I  had  steeled  myself  to  that.  Then 
you  came,  and  made  that  unnecessary.  You  gave 


JOAN  &  CO.  307 

me  another  chance.  For  now,  with  Forsythe  out 
of  the  way,  it's  going  to  be  easy.  You  saw  how 
badly  he  wanted  this.  He'd  have  committed 
murder,  I  think,  to  get  my  process.  That  means 
it  is  going  to  sweep  everything  before  it.  A  few 
months  more  of  hard  work  and  the  business  will 
be  doubled,  trebled — there  is  no  end  to  it.  That's 
what  I  see  ahead  of  me  —  a  fortune  and  then, 
perhaps  —  you." 

He  seized  her  hand. 

"You  must  n't,"  she  protested. 

But  he  could  not  be  stopped  now. 

"You,"  he  repeated.  "I  love  you,  Joan.  Day 
after  day  I've  fought  against  it,  knowing  that  I 
was  n't  worthy  of  you.  'Way  back  in  those  days 
at  your  house,  I  knew.  I  dared  love  you  then  when 
I  was  n't  anything  but  a  penniless  outcast.  The 
beauty  and  gentleness  and  grace  of  you  crept  into 
my  soul.  I  lay  there  while  you  read  and  marveled 
at  you.  And  I  gripped  my  jaws  and  swore  that  if 
I  got  my  strength  back  I  'd  go  out  into  the  world 
and  win  for  you  the  things  you  deserved." 

"Please!  "she  broke  in. 

The  words  hurt  her.  They  were  almost  the 
same  words  Dicky  had  used.  They  sent  her 
thoughts  back  to  those  few  moments  at  Delmonico's 
when  he  had  leaned  over  the  table  and  spoken. 
She  had  answered  him  that  she  was  starting  on 
a  great  adventure.  So  she  had,  and  now  — 


308  JOAN  &  CO. 

"That's  what  I  swore,"  he  continued,  "and 
that's  what  I  mean  to  do.  It's  almost  within 
my  grasp  now,  if  you'll  wait  just  a  little  while 
longer,  Joan.  You'll  do  that?" 

His  eyes  were  burning  into  her.  She  turned  her 
head  to  escape  them.  She  felt  the  power  and  the 
earnestness  of  them,  but  they  only  frightened  her. 

"For  —  for  what?"  she  asked  hopelessly. 

"Until  I  have  a  right  to  go  to  your  father  and 
claim  you.  Until  I  can  give  you  all  the  things 
I've  dreamed  of  giving  you.  It  sounds  wild  to 
you?  But  I  know  now  what  I  have  here.  Not 
New  York  City  alone,  but  the  whole  State  —  the 
whole  Nation  —  shall  bring  me  tribute  so  that  I 
can  lay  at  your  feet  the  treasures  of  the  world. 
I  '11  have  ships  sailing  to  India  for  you  and  other 
ships  sailing  to  the  land  of  pearls  for  you.  They'll 
come  back  laden  with  presents  for  you.  Ah, 
Joan  —  wait  a  little  while  for  me." 

And  all  the  answer  she  made  was  this: 

"Then  you  don't  need  me  here  any  more?" 

"No,  thank  God.  The  drudgery  will  soon  be 
over.  But  the  typewriter  there  in  the  corner —  "  He 
smiled.  "I  shall  put  that  away.  I  shall  buy  a  new 
one  for  Miss  Manning  and  keep  the  other  sacred." 

"She's  to  take  my  place?" 

"I've  engaged  her  to  take  over  the  bookkeep- 
ing and  the  correspondence.  There  will  be  a  great 
deal  of  it  soon." 


JOAN  &  CO.  309 

"So  —  " 

"So  you're  to  remain  safe  at  home." 

He  raised  her  fingers  to  his  hot  lips.  Then  he 
threw  back  his  shoulders  and  faced  her  with  the 
pride  of  a  conqueror.  It  was  like  this  that  Miss 
Manning  saw  him  as  she  opened  the  door  and 
came  in. 

Joan  went  back  to  the  house  as  she  was  bidden — 
went  back  with  so  much  of  the  joy  gone  out  'of 
her  that  when  she  came  in  to  lunch,  much  to  her 
mother's  surprise^  the  latter  appeared  distinctly 
worried. 

"My  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fairburne;  "I 
trust  nothing  serious  has  occurred." 

She  spoke  as  though  she  were  in  a  frame  of 
mind  to  expect  most  anything  to  happen. 

Joan  smiled  weakly. 

"To  all  intents  and  purposes  I've  been  dis- 
charged, Mother,"  she  replied. 

"You  are  not  going  down  to — to  that  place 
anymore?" 

"No.  I'm  not  wanted." 

"Then  I  shall  be  forced  to  admit  that  I  am  under 
a  certain  obligation  to  Devons,"  declared  the 
mother. 

"  How  ? ' '  inquired  Joan. 

"For  having  sense  enough  to  appreciate  the 
fact  that  you  were  entirely  out  of  place  there.'? 

"But  you  don't  understand.  If  I  had  made  my- 


310  JOAN  &  CO. 

self  essential,  this  would  n't  have  happened.  He  — 
he  has  found  some  one  to  do  the  work  better  — 
for  a  few  dollars  a  week.  To  fail  is  n't  anything  to 
be  proud  of,  is  it?" 

"It's  something  to  be  thankful  for  if  it  keeps 
you  at  home,"  replied  Mrs.  Fairburne. 

Joan  lowered  her  head.  "  I  'm  ashamed,"  she  said. 
"Thoroughly  ashamed." 

.  For  a  moment  the  mother  studied  her  in  amaze- 
ment. It  was  evident  the  girl  was  sincere.  That 
was  quite  the  most  peculiar  feature.  In  some  way 
her  daughter  was  hurt  —  humiliated.  In  the  end 
she  gave  up  trying  to  explain  it  and  crossed  to  her 
side. 

"There,"  she  attempted  to  comfort.  "This 
has  been  from  the  first  an  unfortunate  incident, 
but  if  it  has  ended  as  well  as  it  has,  let  us  be 
thankful." 

"I  tried  — I  tried  so  hard." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"And  I  was  doing  better  every  day."t 

"Yes,  dear." 

"If  he  had  given  me  another  month  —  " 

It  was  the  mother  heart  which  spoke  now. 

"Cry  a  little,  dear,"  she  urged.  "Then  it  will 
be  easier  to  forget." 

So  Joan  cried  a  little,  though  in  the  end  she  smiled 
through  her  tears  at  her  foolishness. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

GOLF 

T  was   the  office  boy  who  found   Forsythe. 

When  the  lad  came  in  that  morning  to  perform 
his  usual  tasks  he  saw  the  man  in  his  chair  leaning 
forward  with  his  head  on  his  desk  as  though 
asleep.  He  tiptoed  about  his  work  in  order  not 
to  wake  him.  And  then  —  in  passing  closer  to  the 
desk  —  he  saw  something  crimson  like  red  ink 
spattered  over  the  papers  upon  which  the  head 
rested.  Then  he  saw  the  clasped  hand  and  the 
revolver. 

Holding  his  breath,  as  though  more  than  ever 
anxious  now  not  to  awaken  the  man,  he  stole  out. 
In  the  corridor  he  began  to  lift  his  voice  in  a  panic. 

"He's  shot  himself!"  he  cried. 

Dicky  answered  the  telephone  that  rang  wildly 
that  morning  at  seven,  and  at  the  news  said 
quietly: 

"Notify  the  police.  Don't  ring  up  here  again. 
I'll  be  right  down." 

He  was  out  of  the  house  fifteen  minutes  later 
and  at  the  office  at  half-past  seven.  Already  the 
officers  were  there,  but  after  feeling  of  the  cold 
dead  pulse  they  ordered  the  man  left  where 
he  was  until  the  coroner  arrived.  Dicky  took  one 


JOAN  &  CO. 

look  at  him —  at  the  stiff  figure  and  the  brushed- 
back  hair  and  went  on  to  his  father's  office. 
He  sat  down  in  the  old  swivel  chair  and  called  up 
Wentworth,  his  father's  lawyer.  He  got  the  man 
out  of  bed. 

"I  wish  you  could  come  down  right  away," 
he  said.  "There's  the  devil  to  pay  all  round." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  protested  Wentworth, 
"a  couple  of  hours  from  now  will  do  quite  as  well." 

"Oh,  come  on,"  pleaded  Dicky.  "I'm  all  hollow 
in  the  pit  of  me." 

"Then  I  'd  suggest  a  good  breakfast." 

"Come  on,  will  you?"  shouted  Dicky.  "There's 
a  dead  man  here  and  I  don't  know  what 's  coming 
next." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  without  further  identi- 
fying the  dead  man,  which  perhaps  is  what  brought 
Wentworth  down  there  within  an  hour.  But  he 
was  needed  to  answer  the  thousand  questions  the 
reporters  put,  if  for  no  other  reason.  And  after 
that,  when  things  were  cleaned  up  a  little  and  the 
two  were  alone,  Dicky  in  his  father's  old  swivel 
chair  and  Wentworth  opposite  him,  the  lawyer 
began  to  go  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"Tell  me  all  you  know,"  he  demanded. 

Dicky  told  him,  but,  everything  considered,  it 
was  not  much. 

"I  guess  dad  has  been  cleaned  out  all  right 
enough,"  concluded  Dicky. 


JOAN  &  CO.  313 

"But  this  Forsythe  —  where  does  he  come  in?" 
inquired  Wentworth. 

"He  owned  some  stock  in  the  company," 
answered  Dicky.  "He  was  all  worked  up  trying 
to  put  through  a  deal  to  acquire  a  new  process 
which  he  thought  was  going  to  put  us  out  of  busi- 
ness. When  I  told  him  what  had  happened  to  dad 
he  seemed  pretty  well  worried,  but  —  Holy  Smoke ! 
I  did  n't  think  it  would  lead  to  anything  like  this." 

"Perhaps  there  was  something  else,"  suggested 
Wentworth. 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Your  father  might  know.  I  think  I  ought  to 
see  him." 

"Now,  look  here,"  protested  Dicky.  "Let 's 
leave  him  out  of  this.  He  has  troubles  enough  as 
it  is.  What  I'd  like  to  do  is  to  clean  this  all  up 
without  bringing  him  into  it." 

"If  I  know  him,  that's  going  to  be  hard  to  do." 

"I  think  we  can  manage  it.  I'm  going  to  break 
him  into  golf  this  afternoon,  and  I  have  a  notion 
that  when  we  get  back  he'll  be  so  dog-tired  he 
won't  be  able  to  think." 

"But,  my  boy,  you  have  n't  the  authority  to 
take  over  his  business." 

"Then  I  '11  get  it.  Can't  you  make  out  some  sort 
of  paper?" 

"He  could  give  you  a  power  of  attorney,  of 


3i4  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Then  fix  it  up  and  I'll  have  him  sign  it.  In 
the  meanwhile  you  can  go  ahead  and  find  out  where 
he  stands  with  Toole  &  Co.,  can't  you  ? " 

"I  suppose  the  firm  will  let  us  know  that.  There 
is  probably  a  letter  in  his  morning  mail." 

The  mail  was  on  the  desk.  Dicky  ran  through 
it  and  picked  out  an  envelope  with  a  Wall  Street 
address  in  the  left-hand  corner. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  nodded. 

He  tore  it  open.  It  was  a  cold-blooded  statement 
of  yesterday's  transactions  and  showed  a  debit  of 
two  hundred  and  ten  thousand  dollars. 

"That's  going  some,"  he  observed  as  he  handed 
it  to  Wentworth.  The  latter  glanced  it  over  in 
amazement. 

"What  has  he  got  to  cover  this?"  he  asked. 

"Hanged  if  I  know,"  answered  Dicky. 

"You'd  better  find  out  right  off.  Accounts  of 
this  sort  are  n't  allowed  to  stand  long.  I  '11  make 
out  the  power  of  attorney  for  you  and  then  you'd 
better  call  in  an  auditor  to  make  an  inventory. 
The  sooner  we  begin,  the  better." 

"Right.  And  the  sooner  we  get  through  it  the 
better.  It  looks  as  though  I'd  better  be  hunting 
around  for  a  job  somewhere." 

Burnett  senior  was  inclined  to  rebel  at  this  arbi- 
trary method  of  being  relieved  of  his  business. 

"I'm  not  dead  yet,"  he  protested. 

"Far  from  it,"  agreed  Dicky.  "The  point  of 


JOAN  &  CO.  315 

this  new  arrangement  is  to  keep  you  from  being 
dead  for  a  long  while  to  come." 

"But  what  in  thunder  do  you  know  about  the 
business?"  inquired  Burnett. 

"Not  much,"  admitted  Dicky.  "However,  I'm 
willing  to  learn.  Besides,  in  this  present  emer- 
gency I'm  turning  things  over  to  Wentworth. 
When  he  gets  through,  we'll  hold  a  war  council 
and  see  what  comes  next." 

"Yes  —  Wentworth  is  a  good  man,"  nodded 
Burnett. 

Dicky  was  further  aided  and  abetted  by  Mrs. 
Burnett,  so  that  in  the  end  Burnett  signed  the 
power  of  attorney.  Armed  with  this,  Dicky  went 
back  to  the  office  and  gave  Wentworth  carte 
blanche  to  go  ahead  and  do  whatever  he  pleased. 
It  was  then  noon,  and  he  rang  up  Hastings  at  the 
Harvard  Club  and  reminded  him  of  an  invitation 
he  had  frequently  extended  to  take  him  out  to 
the  Dale  Country  Club  whenever  he  had  a  half- 
day. 

"I  want  you  to  give  my  father  his  first  lesson 
in  golf  this  afternoon,"  he  informed  Hastings. 

Whatever  the  latter's  emotions  were  upon  re- 
ceipt of  this  news,  he  politely  concealed  them  and 
generously  offered  to  do  his  best. 

Dicky  sat  on  the  club  piazza  drinking  ginger 
ale  with  his  mother  while  his  father  started 
around  the  course.  Two  hours  later  his  father  came 


316  JOAN  &  CO. 

back  perspiring.  He  had  made  one  half  the  holes 
in  three  hundred  and  forty,  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  his  nerves  were  not  in  the  best  of 
condition. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  BIG  CHANCE 

IT  was  Hartley's  proposition.  He  rang  upDevons 
and  asked  him  to  drop  in  at  the  office  that 
afternoon.  There  had  been  a  delay  in  the  last 
consignment  of  enamel,  and  this  had  set  Hartley 
to  thinking — this  and  a  rumor,  following  the 
death  of  Forsythe,  that  all  was  not  well  with  the 
Burnett  Company.  The  report  did  not  come  as 
a  surprise  to  Hartley.  Indeed,  he  did  not  see  how 
the  new  Devons  process  could  do  otherwise  than 
cut  into  the  Burnett  business.  The  youngster  had 
something  that  had  only  to  be  tested  to  prove 
its  superiority.  Still  he  had  given  Forsythe  credit 
for  being  able  to  handle  the  competition  in  some 
better  fashion  than  putting  a  bullet  through  his 
head.  It  would  not  have  surprised  him  any  to 
have  seen  the  man  manage  to  absorb  the  new 
invention.  Forsythe  was  both  shifty  and  nimble- 
witted.  The  youngster  was  lucky  to  escape  him 
in  so  simple  a  way. 

But  with  this  danger  removed,  Devons  was  not 
handling  his  business  as  he  should.  He  had  a 
gold  mine  there  if  he  only  knew  it  and  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  opportunities.  One  of  the  most 
obvious  opportunities  was  that  which  now  lay 


3i8  JOAN  &  CO. 

before  him.  If  it  was  true  that  Burnett  was  in 
financial  difficulties,  here  was  one  of  the  best  plants 
and  organizations  in  the  country  waiting  for  him 
at  his  own  figure.  Why  in  thunder  did  not  Devons 
jump  at  it  instead  of  fooling  around  in  his  little 
two-cent  laboratory  and  botching  his  orders? 
Hartley  had  been  holding  up  a  big  lot  of  shoes 
for  three  days  now  waiting  for  enamel.  That  was 
not  business.  Devons  could  spoil  the  best  thing 
in  the  world  if  he  kept  this  up  long.  He  had 
written  and  telephoned,  and  the  only  satisfac- 
tion he  had  been  able  to  get  was  that  the  stuff 
would  be  shipped  as  soon  as  possible.  That  was 
not  soon  enough  as  business  was  conducted  to-day. 

There  was  the  possibility,  of  course,  that  Devons 
lacked  capital  to  finance  the  purchase  of  the  Bur- 
nett plant.  That,  however,  was  not  a  valid  excuse. 
Any  man  half  awake  could  raise  what  money  he 
needed  on  such  a  good  thing  as  this,  if  he  knew 
how.  Perhaps  the  difficulty  lay  here.  He  had  sent 
for  him  to  find  out.  Under  the  proper  conditions, 
he  himself  might  be  willing  to  put  in  some  money. 

Devons  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  wait  this 
time  in  the  outer  office.  He  was  admitted  at  once. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting  on  that 
last  order,"  he  began. 

"You  couldn't  help  it,"  Hartley  finished  for 
him.  "However,  that  does  n't  make  it  any  the 
less  awkward  for  me." 


JOAN  &  CO.  319 

"I  know  it,  Mr.  Hartley,  but  I've  been  bothered 
more  or  less  lately.  I  expect  soon  to  get  straight- 
ened out." 

"How?" 

"I'm  going  to  have  more  room  and  try  to  find 
an  assistant." 

"One?" 

"To  start  with." 

Hartley  swung  his  chair  clear  of  his  desk. 

"Man,  you  need  twenty.  Have  you  heard  any 
stories  going  the  rounds  about  Burnett?" 

Devons  started. 

"You  mean  about  his  general  manager — For- 
sythe?" 

"Forsythe's  death  was  only  a  symptom.  They 
say  the  firm  is  in  a  bad  way." 

"  I  had  n't  heard  anything  about  that." 

"Burnett  has  been  playing  the  market  and  lost 
heavily.  Besides  that,  you  are  cutting  into  his 
business  and  are  bound  to  cut  in  more  every 
day.  I  Ve  been  wondering  if  this  was  n't  your 
chance." 

"In  just  what  way?"  asked  Devons. 

"To  take  over  his  plant." 

"But  Forsythe  was  trying  to  buy  me  out!" 
exclaimed  Devons. 

"That  shows  he  knew  the  value  of  what  you 
have.  It 's  none  of  my  business,  of  course  —  but 
did  you  make  him  a  figure?" 


320  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  did  not,"  answered  Devons.  "He  tried  to 
blackmail  me  into  selling." 

"That's  Forsythe,"  nodded  Hartley.  "The  only 
surprising  thing  is  that  he  did  n't  succeed." 

"  If  I  did  n  't  have  just  the  kind  of  partner  I 
have,  he  would  have  succeeded,"  Devons  admit- 
ted. "  But  she  — " 

"She?" 

Then  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  Devons 
cold  the  whole  story.  Hartley  listened,  both  inter- 
ested and  amused. 

"She  was  a  good  sport,  all  right,"  he  exclaimed 
when  Devons  had  finished.  "And  now  —  Good 
Lord,  man,  you  have  the  whole  thing  in  your 
hands!  If  I  were  you  I'd  get  to  Burnett  as  soon 
as  my  legs  would  carry  me.  Get  an  offer  out 
of  him.  It  would  n't  surprise  me  if  you  could 
put  it  over  for  around  seventy-five  or  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars." 

The  figures  took  Devons's  breath  away. 

"Where  in  thunder  could  I  get  that  amount?" 

Hartley  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  thought 
a  moment.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was  cau- 
tiously —  as  though  feeling  his  way. 

"Devons,"  he  said,  "I  believe  in  your  proc- 
ess. I  think  you  have  a  fortune  ahead  of  you  if 
properly  managed.  I  wonder  now  if  you  would 
care  to  consider  letting  me  in  on  this  in  return 
for  financing  the  proposition  for  you?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  321 

Devons  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Would  I?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Steady,"  advised  Hartley.  "It  won't  do  any 
harm  to  do  a  little  figuring  on  it,  anyhow.  Pull 
your  chair  up  nearer  the  desk." 

It  was  fortunate  that  Hartley  was  a  man  who 
could  safely  be  trusted  to  do  the  decent  thing, 
because  Devons  in  his  enthusiasm  at  the  prospect 
of  having  a  partner  with  the  former's  wide  and 
sound  business  experience  was  ready  to  agree  to 
anything.  Furthermore,  Hartley  stood  for  success. 
He  looked  and  acted  it.  To  have  him  connected 
with  any  enterprise  was  insurance.  And  so  while 
the  latter  discussed  this  thing  and  that  with  him 
for  the  next  half-hour,  Devons  did  scarcely  more 
than  nod  his  approval.  Incidentally,  however, 
he  did  talk  enough  to  give  Hartley  a  clear  idea 
of  just  where  Miss  Fairburne  stood  in  the  deal. 
She  had  raised  the  initial  five  thousand  for  him, 
and  Devons  considered  that  she  had  an  equal 
interest  with  him  in  all  rights  and  profits. 

"We  share  and  share  alike,"  he  concluded  briefly. 

"I  see,"  smiled  Hartley.  "I  might  almost  con- 
sider you  as  one  then." 

Devons  flushed. 

"There  is  that  possibility,"  he  admitted.  "But 
I  don't  think  I'm  justified  in  letting  you  put  it 
just  that  way." 


JOAN  &  CO. 

"Well,  from  all  I  hear  of  her  from  you  I  should 
say  you  are  to  be  congratulated." 

In  the  end  Hartley's  suggestion  was  that  in 
return  for  a  one-third  interest  he  would  under- 
take negotiations  with  Burnett,  furnish  the  capi- 
tal, and  without  at  present  giving  up  his  position 
with  the  Doggett  people  undertake  in  his  spare 
time  active  management  of  the  business. 

"  I  know  a  young  man  I  can  put  in  to  carry  out 
my  ideas  and  do  the  routine  work,"  he  concluded. 
"He 's  a  Tech  man  and  has  had  training  under  me. 
Starling  is  his  name.  You  will  like  him.  But 
of  course  you'll  want  to  think  this  over  for  a 
day." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  answered  Devons.  "It 
sounds  right  to  me.  I'm  willing  to  sign  an  agree- 
ment to  that  effect  as  soon  as  you  can  make  out 
the  papers." 

"What  about  your  silent  partner?"  inquired 
Hartley.  "She  may  have  opinions  of  her  own." 

"I'll  see  her  right  away,  but  I  know  she'll  be 
with  me." 

"We'll  leave  it  like  that,  then,"  concluded 
Hartley.  "But  the  sooner  I'm  in  a  position  to  act, 
the  better." 

Devons  left  the  office  walking  on  air.  This 
new  arrangement  promised  to  accomplish  in  a 
few  months  all  that  by  himself  he  might  have 
been  years  in  bringing  about.  With  a  modern 


JOAN  &  CO.  323 

plant  and  a  man  like  Hartley  to  oversee  it  and 
organize  the  selling,  the  whole  country  could  be 
covered  as  quickly  and  as  easily  as  it  would  have 
taken  him  to  cover  the  city  alone.  It  was  like  a 
gift  from  the  gods.  And  it  brought  Joan  just  that 
much  nearer.  It  brought  her  so  near  that  as  he 
walked  out  into  the  May  sunshine  the  world  be- 
came suddenly  vibrant.  As  with  quickened  pulse 
he  strode  along  to  carry  to  her  this  wonderful 
news,  the  city  became  touched  with  magic.  The 
very  air  tingled  and  the  humdrum  old  buildings 
of  wood  and  brick  which  he  passed  took  on  a 
romantic  beauty  like  the  buildings  of :  some  strange 
Old  World  city.  He  was  walking  on  a  different 
level  now.  His  feet  no  longer  clung  to  the  surface, 
but  were  tipped  with  wings  that  raised  him  to 
some  rarefied  stratum.  He  sensed  the  same  exhila- 
ration as  one  walking  upon  a  great  height. 

He  took  the  Tube  to  the  Hudson  Terminal, 
and  instead  of  at  once  getting  into  the  uptown 
Elevated  he  came  to  the  surface  again.  Hartley 
had  spoken  of  the  need  of  haste,  but  even  at  the 
risk  of  an  hour's  delay  he  must  enjoy  this  hour. 
So  he  threaded  his  way  through  the  downtown 
crowds  and  past  the  giant  buildings.  Both  the  peo- 
ple and  the  buildings  used  to  awe  him  —  almost 
humble  him.  Now  he  faced  them  with  a  smile  and 
a  conscious  power.  As  he  went  on,  this  grew  into 
something  akin  to  a  feeling  of  superiority.  He 


JOAN  &  CO. 

had  met  this  city  and  conquered  it.  He  had  come 
out  of  the  West  a  poor  boy,  and  with  naked  hands 
had  fought  and  won  from  it  the  choicest  of  its 
gifts.  It  was  the  moment  before  possession,  and 
that  sometimes  brings  keener  reactions  than 
actual  possession.  The  past  was  still  vivid  enough 
to  afford  its  full  contrast  to  the  future.  He  went 
back,  gloating  over  the  climax,  to  his  hard  luck 
when  he  staggered  cold  and  hungry  and  penni- 
less and  friendless  along  streets  similar  to  these  — 
to  that  time  when  the  city  seemed  to  be  on  top. 
He  remembered  the  indifference  of  the  passers-by. 
He  might  have  dropped  dead  among  them  and 
they  would  scarcely  have  turned  to  see  him  drop. 
Now  in  a  few  months,  possibly  in  a  few  weeks, 
they  would  watch  him  go  by  with  envious  eyes. 

He  was  on  the  threshold  of  success.  He  stood 
before  the  door  which  had  reluctantly  swung  open 
admitting  him  to  the  sultan's  palace.  Within  lay 
all  the  treasures  of  the  world  —  everything  that 
money  could  buy.  And  a  little  way  farther  in  lived 
the  princess  waiting  for  him. 

His  thoughts  flashed  back  to  his  father  and 
mother  and  brother  and  sisters  plodding  along  the 
dull  routine  of  their  lives  on  the  Western  farm. 
He  had  not  written  for  several  weeks.  He  had 
wished  to  wait  until  he  had  something  definite 
to  tell  them.  Now  —  when  he  wrote  again  —  how 
he  would  make  their  eyes  open.  He  could  go  back 


JOAN  &  CO.  325 

with  his  suit-case  bulging  with  ten-dollar  bills. 
Actually  that  was  no  longer  a  fantastic  dream.  He 
would  do  it.  He  would  do  just  that.  Only  he  would 
not  go  alone.  He  must  wait  until  Joan  could  go 
with  him. 

Joan!  Joan!  Joan!  How  the  name  sang  to  him! 
He  allowed  it  to  sing  to  him.  He  had  suppressed 
the  music  long  enough.  He  was  going  a  great  deal 
farther  than  he  had  any  right,  but  with  the  right 
so  near  he  could  hardly  be  blamed.  It  was  as  though 
she  were  by  his  side  now. 

A  little  way  farther  he  mounted  a  Fifth  Avenue 
'bus  and  climbed  to  the  top.  He  could  see  better 
up  there.  And  the  elevation  fitted  better  into  his 
mood.  He  could  look  down  on  the  streets  —  look 
down  with  Joan  by  his  side.  It  was  almost  as  if  they 
were  in  their  limousine  together  —  the  limousine 
he  meant  to  buy.  For  he  meant  to  buy  for  her  all 
the  choice  things  of  the  world. 

To  be  sure  she  had  most  of  them  now,  but  they 
were  not  his  gifts.  That  is  what  was  going  to  make 
the  difference.  She  must  leave  behind  her  all  she 
had  now  and  let  them  come  fresh  from  him. 
What  jewels  she  now  had  would  count  for  noth- 
ing against  the  jewels  he  would  buy  for  her.  And 
her  gowns  and  her  hats  and  her  dainty  shoes  — 
from  head  to  foot  he  wished  them  all  to  come  from 
him.  Only  by  giving  could  he  express  in  tangible, 
concrete  form  his  love  for  her.  Only  by  buying. 


326  JOAN  &  CO. 

He  was  no  poet.  He  must  get  beautiful  stones  and 
silks  and  satins  to  express  his  sonnets  for  him. 

This  was  possible  only  through  the  medium  of 
money  —  through  a  king's  fortune.  And  that  was 
now  almost  within  his  grasp.  There  were  those 
who  affected  to  scorn  money,  but  they  did  not 
know  what  he  knew.  He  recalled  with  a  certain 
uneasiness  one  of  his  gentle-souled  professors  who 
had  given  his  life  to  the  investigation  of  abstract 
theories  —  to  pure  science.  The  man  had  taken 
an  interest  in  him  during  his  first  two  years  at 
Tech  and  had  sometimes  asked  him  to  his  rooms 
at  night.  There  he  talked  wisely  and  encourag- 
ingly to  him.  One  evening  as  he  was  leaving  the 
professor  had  placed  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
and  searched  his  eyes. 

"Devons,"  he  had  said,  "there  is  a  great  future 
ahead  of  you.  I  wish  I  might  look  forward  to  see- 
ing you  take  up  my  work  where  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  leave  it." 

Devons  had  looked  around  the  barren  bachelor 
quarters  crowded  with  books  and  had  not  an- 
swered. Here  was  a  man  who  did  not  need  money 
—  who  found  a  full  life  within  himself  and  his 
work.  But  Devons  wondered  then  and  he  won- 
dered now  if  the  man  had  any  such  past  as  his 
own. 

All  his  life  Mark  Devons  had  seen  money  stand 
for  the  difference  between  a  full  life  and  an  empty 


JOAN  &  CO.  327 

life.  In  the  West  it  stood  for  the  difference  be- 
tween some  one  and  no  one.  The  stature  of  a 
man  was  reckoned  in  terms  of  his  fortune.  That 
standard  had  been  bred  in  him.  He  had  seen  it 
exemplified  in  his  father's  life.  He  accepted  it. 
He  was  forced  to  accept  it.  In  and  of  itself  money 
meant  nothing,  but  interpreted  in  life  it  meant 
everything.  In  his  own  case  it  meant  Joan. 

It  meant  Joan!  Once  again  his  thoughts  swirled 
dizzily  about  her.  They  were  speeding  along  upper 
Fifth  Avenue  —  past  shop-windows  laden  with  the 
choice  things  of  the  world  for  those  with  money. 
The  world  had  been  scoured  to  bring  them  here. 
Most  of  them  were  for  the  women  —  for  the  men 
to  buy  for  their  women.  Here  was  the  one  oppor- 
tunity for  men  who  were  not  poets  to  materialize 
their  thoughts  for  the  women  they  loved.  In  a 
few  months  now  he  would  be  in  a  position  to  do 
just  that. 

He  climbed  down  and  jumped  off  the  'bus  and 
made  his  way  to  the  house  he  had  not  visited 
since  that  day  he  drove  away  from  it.  He  had  been 
humble  then.  But  now  he  held  his  head  well  up 
and  walked  boldly.  He  would  not  be  afraid  to  meet 
Fairburne  to-day.  He  would  not  be  afraid  to  meet 
Mrs.  Fairburne. 

Jeffrey  at  the  door  recognized  him  and  greeted 
him  with  a  respectful  smile.  He  thought  Miss 
Fairburne  was  in.  If  Mr.  Devons  would  step  into 


328  JOAN  &  CO. 

the  drawing-room  he  would  make  sure.  Devons 
stepped  in.  The  room  had  not  been  changed  in 
any  detail.  It  was  as  familiar  as  his  own  home. 
There  was  the  fireplace  before  which  he  had  sat 
so  often  with  her  —  where  he  had  fought  back  the 
thoughts  that  flooded  in  upon  him.  But  he  could 
think  them  now  as  much  as  he  pleased.  He  stood 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  smiled  with 
satisfaction.  He  took  note  of  details.  In  his  new 
home  he  must  duplicate  as  nearly  as  possible  what 
he  saw  here.  He  could  vary  them  in  color  and  de- 
sign, but  here  was  a  standard. 

In  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  pastime  she  came 
in.  She  seemed  somewhat  disconcerted,  but  she 
was  always  at  her  best  when  startled  out  of  her 
calm  self-possession.  It  gave  alertness  to  her  eyes 
and  color  to  her  cheeks  and  eagerness  to  her  sen- 
sitive lips.  In  her  way  she  was  as  suspicious  at 
having  him  appear  in  mid-afternoon  as  Mrs. 
Burnett  had  been  to  see  her  men-folk  at  this  time. 
She  paused  halfway  to  him,  but  he  was  at  her 
side  in  two  strides. 

"Joan ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  it's  business  this  time  — 
for  the  last  time,  I  hope." 

"I  know,"  she  nodded.  "You've  sold  after  all, 
then." 

"Sold?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  wouldn't  take  a 
million  dollars  for  the  process  to-day." 

She  moved  away  from  him  and  sat  down.  She 


JOAN  &  CO.  329 

felt  safer  sitting  down.  He  went  back  to  his  posi- 
tion before  the  fireplace.  He  stood  there  so  con- 
fidently, almost  with  such  an  air  of  proprietorship 
that  she  feared. 

"Well?"  she  inquired. 

"Hartley  sent  for  me,"  he  announced,  as  though 
that  in  itself  were  something  to  be  proud  of. 
"I've  told  you  of  Hartley." 

"Yes." 

"He  —  he  wants  to  go  into  partnership  with  us." 

"With  us?" 

It  was  as  though  she  failed  to  connect  herself 
at  all  with  the  "us." 

"With  you  and  me.  He  made  an  offer  to  under- 
take the  full  management  and  furnish  capital, 
for  a  one-third  interest.  Do  you  realize  what  that 
means?" 

She  considered  a  moment  and  then  replied, 
"I'm  afraid  I  don't,  Mark." 

"It  means  success!"  he  exclaimed.  "With  a  man 
like  him  with  us  we  can  accomplish  in  weeks 
what  it  would  take  us  months  to  do  alone.  Why, 
he  has  a  scheme  in  mind  already  to  buy  the 
Burnett  plant  —  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  quickly  at  that  name. 

"The  Burnett  plant?" 

"They  were  our  big  rivals,"  he  explained. 
"Forsythe  was  with  them." 

She  frowned  at  the  recollection. 


330  JOAN  &  CO. 

"Now  Burnett  has  lost  his  money  in  the  market." 

"I  —  I  had  n't  heard  anything  about  that!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should,  is  there? 
Hartley  told  me.  The  man  is  practically  bank- 
rupt, and  we  expect  to  buy  it  in  at  our  own  price." 

"This  is  Joshua  Burnett  you  are  talking  about?" 

"It's  Burnett,  of  the  Burnett  Manufacturing 
Company.  I  don't  know  anything  more  about 
him  than  that.  But  Hartley  says  it 's  our  great 
opportunity.  He  is  willing  to  put  up  the  money 
provided  we  '11  take  him  in.  He  sent  me  up  to  you 
to  get  your  consent." 

"I  —  I  don't  see  what  I  have  to  do  with  it," 
she  answered. 

"You?  Everything,"  he  ran  on.  "Why,  we're 
partners,  you  and  I.  I  can't  put  through  any  deal 
without  you.  I  told  Hartley  that  we  each  held  a 
half  interest.  Without  you  I  could  n't  even  have 
made  a  beginning.  And  now  that  success  is  within 
our  grasp,  why,  we're  going  to  share  that,  too." 

She  was  leaning  forward,  staring  at  the  floor. 

"You  —  you  don't  seem  as  glad  as  I  thought 
you'd  be,"  he  complained. 

She  roused  herself. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Burnett,"  she  answered. 
"It  —  it  seems  sort  of  hard  on  him." 

"If  he  speculated  and  lost  —  that  isn't  our 
fault,  is  it?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  331 

"No,  Mark." 

"And  after  what  Forsythe  attempted  — " 

"But  Mr.  Burnett  had  nothing  to  do  with 
that,"  she  protested. 

"I  only  know  he  needed  my  process  and  tried 
that  way  to  get  it." 

"It  was  Forsythe,"  she  cut  in. 

"You  know  this  Burnett,  then?" 

"I  have  met  his  wife,"  she  faltered.  "And  I 
have  met  his  son.  Forsythe  must  have  acted  with- 
out their  knowledge.  I  am  absolutely  certain." 

He  glanced  impatiently  at  his  watch. 

"Well,  we'll  admit  as  much,"  he  concluded. 
"I  must  get  back  to  Hartley.  You  give  your 
consent?" 

"I  —  I  don't  know  anything  about  what  to 
do,"  she  stammered.  "You  must  act  upon  your 
own  judgment." 

"Right,"  he  nodded  briskly.  "Then  I  shall 
accept  the  offer.  And  now,"  —  he  stepped  nearer 
her,  —  "I  hope  I  won't  ever  have  to  bother  you 
again  with  such  details.  They  disturb  you.  I  'm 
sorry  to  have  had  to  come  to  you  to-day.  I'll 
be  glad  when  I  shan't  have  to  be  bothered  myself. 
Hartley  is  going  to  take  over  just  those  things." 

She  was  sitting  back  in  her  chair  a  bit  rigid. 

"You  don't  know  what  this  means  to  me, 
Joan,"  he  said. 

"I'm  glad  if  it  makes  you  happy." 


332  JOAN  &  CO. 

"It  won't  make  me  completely  happy  until  I'm 
able  to  make  you  happy." 

She  rose  now. 

"Me?  Please  not  to  worry  about  me." 

"The  next  time  I  come  it  won't  be  as  your  busi- 
ness partner,"  he  whispered.  "The  next  time — " 

"We  must  n't  look  forward  to  the  next  time," 
she  warned. 

He  frowned. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Things  happen  in  such  a  queer  way,"  she 
replied. 

When  he  found  himself  again  outside  the  house 
he  was  repeating  that  last  sentence  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A  BUSY  MAN 

a  week  Joan  tried  at  odd  times  to  get  hold 
of  Dicky,  but  as  near  as  she  could  make  out, 
there  was  not  a  busier  man  in  New  York.  In 
just  what  way  he  was  busy  she  could  not  discover. 
He  was  never  in  when  she  telephoned,  and  in 
reply  to  a  note  he  answered  only  that  it  took 
so  much  time  trying  to  see  that  his  father  did  not 
play  too  much  golf  that  he  was  left  with  scarcely 
a  minute  of  his  own.  Under  those  circumstances, 
and  some  others,  she  was  glad  enough  when  her 
father  proposed  a  couple  of  weeks  at  Atlantic  City. 
So  they  motored  down  there  and  stopped  at  the 
Traymore.  It  was  just  before  the  season,  so  that 
the  Board  Walk  was  not  yet  too  crowded  to  be  un- 
pleasant and  one  could  still  sit  on  the  hotel  deck 
in  decent  seclusion.  Here  she  relaxed  and  baked 
herself  in  the  sun  or  listened  to  the  band  concerts 
on  the  Pier,  gazing  out  to  sea.  It  was  an  indolent, 
hazy  existence,  and  was  undoubtedly  just  what 
she  needed. 

The  one  disturbing  factor  was  the  long  letters 
she  received  every  morning  from  Devons.  He  was 
glad  she  had  left  town.  He  saw  now  that  the  strain 
of  the  last  month  had  told  on  her,  and  he  blamed 


334  JOAN  &  CO. 

himself  for  that.  He  should  not  have  allowed  her 
to  undertake  anything  so  arduous.  She  was  not 
accustomed  to  anything  of  the  sort.  She  was  not 
hardened  to  it  as  Miss  Manning  was.  The  latter 
made  no  effort  and  left  the  office  at  night  as  fresh 
as  when  she  came  in.  She  was  proving  very  satis- 
factory. 

When  Devons  talked  of  her  like  that  he  was 
repeating  almost  the  very  words  of  her  mother. 
He  was  quite  as  blind  as  the  latter  had  been  — 
quite  as  narrow.  He  had  failed  utterly  to  realize 
what  these  months  had  really  meant  to  her.  It 
was  not  the  work  which  had  worried  her,  but  his 
attitude  toward  it.  And  from  him  she  had  looked 
for  something  different.  She  had  expected  him  to 
understand  her  —  to  see  the  facts  her  mother  and 
Dicky  had  missed.  She  had  been  happy — su- 
premely happy  —  with  the  joy  that  comes  of 
service.  That  is  the  only  happiness  that  lasts  — 
that  can  perpetuate  itself.  For  a  little  while  she 
had  felt  herself  useful,  and  it  was  this  that  had 
given  significance  to  those  days.  To  be  sure,  she 
had  done  a  very  little,  and  perhaps  had  not  done 
that  little  as  well  as  Miss  Manning  was  doing  it. 
But  that  little  —  he  had  permitted  Miss  Manning 
to  take  that  little  away  from  her.  There  was  noth- 
ing left.  That  is  what  she  felt  as  he  wrote  to  her. 
There  was  nothing  left  between  them  to  give  point 
to  his  later  letters. 


JOAN  &  CO.  335 

For  the  next  few  days  he  talked  only  of  Hartley. 
He  admired  the  man.  He  stood  almost  in  awe  of 
the  way  he  was  taking  hold  of  the  business  and 
pushing  through  the  negotiations  with  Burnett. 

"Hartley  is  a  genius,"  he  wrote.  "And  his  man 
Starling  shows  the  result  of  training  under  him. 
The  two  are  putting  in  ten  hours  a  day  and  I  am 
spending  most  of  my  time  with  them.  I  'm  turning 
out  only  just  enough  enamel  for  Hartley  to  use 
because  it  seems  a  waste  of  time  to  putter  around 
in  a  small  way  after  listening  to  the  plans  they  have 
ahead.  And  the  letters  are  coming  in  every  day 
clamoring  for  the  stuff.  I  tell  you,  Joan,  we  have 
a  market  bigger  than  I  ever  realized.  We've  got 
them  going. 

"There  isn't  much  doubt  but  what  we'll  get 
the  Burnett  plant.  The  only  question  is  one  of 
price  and  Hartley  is  driving  a  sharp  bargain." 

And  so  on  and  so  on  and  so  on.  Those  details 
did  not  interest  her  in  the  slightest.  She  frowned 
at  every  mention  of  the  name  of  Burnett.  There 
were  times  when  she  felt  as  though  involved  in 
some  plot  against  him  —  and  against  the  little 
woman  she  had  met  who  was  so  proud  of  Dicky 
and  against  Dicky  himself.  She  wished  Dicky 
would  write  to  her.  She  had  dropped  him  a  note 
saying  that  she  was  going  to  Atlantic  City  and 
hoped  to  hear  from  him.  But  she  did  not  hear.  At 
the  end  of  a  week  she  was  going  through  her 


336  JOAN  &  CO. 

morning  mail  looking  for  his  boyish  handwriting 
with  an  eagerness  that  surprised  her.  When  in- 
stead of  that  she  found  the  businesslike  scrawl 
of  Devons,  she  was  always  brought  up  with  some- 
thing of  a  shock.  It  was  odd,  but  down  here  the 
whole  affair  with  Devons  was  fast  becoming  more 
and  more  a  detached  episode.  It  was  probably 
due  to  the  fact  that  it  began  so  abruptly  and  ended 
so  abruptly  and  had  so  little  to  do  with  her  pres- 
ent existence,  while  Dicky  went  back  in  her  life 
several  years.  Then,  too,  one  could  not  imagine 
Devons  here  without  spoiling  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  this  was  just  the  sort  of  place  into  which 
Dicky  would  fit.  He  would  like  nothing  better  than 
to  sprawl  out  in  a  steamer  chair  beside  her  with  a 
rug  over  his  knees  and  talk  of  nothing  in  partic- 
ular. She  would  like  to  hear  him  talk  again  of 
nothing  in  particular. 

Then  when  finally  the  deal  was  consummated  — 
Devons  sent  her  a  wire  the  day  the  purchase  of 
the  Burnett  plant  was  made  —  he  began  to  write 
an  entirely  different  sort  of  letter.  She  had  antici- 
pated this.  She  had  dreaded  just  this.  Her  cheeks 
burned  as  she  read  the  first  one  —  burned  with 
shame  as  though  she  were  reading  another  woman's 
letters.  It  would  have  been  better  had  he  told 
her  these  things.  With  his  eyes  back  of  the  words 
and  his  vibrant  voice  they  would  not  have  sounded 
quite  so — so  crude.  They  would  have  seemed 


JOAN  &  CO.  337 

more  personal.  Besides,  she  could  have  checked 
him  then  at  the  beginning.  As  it  was,  he  had 
his  own  way  —  taking  everything  for  granted. 
Even  when  in  her  replies  she  did  not  reply  at  all, 
he  retained  his  confidence.  It  was  as  though  he 
assumed  her  consent  to  all  he  wrote.  Once  she 
tried  to  write  him  what  she  felt,  but  it  sounded 
as  crude  as  his  own  letters,  so  she  tore  it  up. 
She  felt  quite  helpless,  and  in  this  emergency 
turned  in  her  thoughts  again  to  Dicky  —  of  all 
men.  It  was,  under  the  circumstances,  rather 
absurd. 

In  the  end  it  was  Dicky  rather  than  Devons  that 
brought  her  back  to  town.  She  had  begun  to  get 
worried  about  him.  In  the  two  weeks  she  had  been 
away  she  had  not  heard  a  single  word.  This  was 
unlike  him,  Jfor  even  when  she  had  treated  him 
most  badly  he  had  never  ceased  to  keep  her 
posted  about  what  he  was  doing.  He  had  written 
her  daily  from  Florida  at  a  time  when  she  had 
been  so  occupied  with  other  matters  that  she  had 
not  deigned  to  reply  at  all  to  most  of  them.  But 
it  had  not  been  because  she  did  not  like  to  hear 
from  him.  Even  when  he  was  most  foolish  she  had 
not  objected  to  reading  his  outpourings.  There 
were  a  great  many  things  Dicky  did  not  under- 
stand, but  now  that  no  one  in  the  world  understood 
that  seemed  less  significant.  He,  at  any  rate,  was 
consistent.  And  whatever  it  was  now  that  pre- 


338  JOAN  &  CO. 

vented  him  from  writing,  she  had  no  doubt  what- 
ever but  that  if  she  could  see  him  she  would  find 
him  exactly  the  same  old  Dicky.  It  was  with  an  un- 
expressed desire  to  prove  this  that  she  came  back 
to  town  instead  of  remaining  another  week  as  her 
mother  urged. 

She  had  not  intended  to  tell  Devons  of  her 
plans,  but  meant  to  have  a  day  or  so  to  herself. 
That  morning,  however,  he  called  her  up  over  the 
long  distance  just  as  she  was  starting,  and  insisted 
upon  seeing  her  that  afternoon. 

"I  want  to  take  you  all  over  the  new  plant," 
he  said.  "We  are  fairly  well  installed  now,  and  you 
must  see  for  yourself  what  progress  we've  made. 
It  will  open  your  eyes." 

It  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  she  desired 
to  do,  but  she  knew  that  if  she  refused  now  it 
would  be  only  to  postpone  the  inevitable,  so  she 
consented.  He  was  to  call  at  the  house  for  her  at 
three. 

When  he  stepped  into  the  drawing-room  she 
felt  as  though  he  had  undergone  some  metamor- 
phosis. It  was  almost  as  though  he  had  changed 
physically.  He  was  quicker  in  his  movements  — 
more  aggressive  in  his  attitude.  He  carried  him- 
self like  a  nervous  man  of  affairs.  But  perhaps 
these  peculiarities  were  given  undue  emphasis 
by  his  dress.  She  had  never  seen  him  except  in 
the  old  pepper-and-salt  suit  he  had  first  worn  and 


JOAN  &  CO.  339 

the  somewhat  battered  gray  felt  hat.  They  had 
to  her  grown  to  be  a  part  of  him.  These  had  now 
been  discarded  for  a  new  blue  serge  that  fitted 
perfectly  and  a  new  Panama.  She  noticed,  too, 
that  his  low  shoes  were  new  and  that  he  was  wear- 
ing gloves.  It  was  a  conventional  enough  costume, 
but  it  made  him  over  into  a  modern  young  New 
York  business  man  of  a  type.  Much  that  charac- 
terized him  as  Mark  Devons  had  vanished.  To 
be  sure,  all  this  was  superficial,  but  it  had  its 
effect. 

It  was  clear  that  he  was  impatient  to  show  her 
at  once  the  tangible  result  of  his  success,  and  so 
after  scarcely  more  than  commonplace  greetings 
they  started  in  the  waiting  taxi  in  which  he  had 
driven  up.  On  the  way  it  was  of  Hartley  again 
that  he  talked  —  of  Hartley  and  the  prospect  that 
lay  ahead. 

"It's  like  a  fairy  story  coming  true!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  can  hardly  believe  it  yet.  It  is  only  a 
few  months  ago  that  I  was  wandering  around  these 
streets  on  foot  and  penniless.  And  now  — " 

He  turned  to  her  as  though  this  were  the  first 
time  he  had  seen  her  since  her  return. 

"You're  looking  very  much  better,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "The  rest  has  done  you  good." 

"Yes?" 

"At  the  rate  things  are  going  now,  I  ought  to 
be  able  to  get  away  myself  for  a  little  while  this 


340  JOAN  &  CO. 

summer.  If  it 's  possible  I  'd  like  to  get  home  for 
a  week." 

She  tried  to  show  some  interest. 

"They  '11  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"They  will  when  they  see  what  I  bring  them." 

The  cab  had  stopped  before  a  fair-sized  build- 
ing. As  she  stepped  out  he  pointed  to  a  freshly 
painted  inscription.  It  read 

DEVONS  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY 

"I  wanted  to  make  it  Devons,  Fairburne  & 
Hartley,"  he  explained.  "But  Hartley  thought 
this  was  the  better  trade  name.  Every  time  I  look 
at  it  I  'm  half  afraid  it 's  only  an  optical  illusion. 
Read  it  for  me." 

She  repeated  the  words,  "Devons  Manufactur- 
ing Company." 

"That's  it,"  he  nodded.  "Some  different  from 
the  one  crowded  room  we  started  with,  eh?" 

"It  looks  very  imposing,"  she  answered. 

"We've  taken  over  two  or  three  standard 
kinds  of  blacking  Burnett  was  making.  But  as 
soon  as  I  get  time  I'm  going  to  try  to  improve 
on  those.  I  believe  I  can  do  it." 

"  I  believe  you  can,"  she  said. 

He  led  her  in  as  proudly  as  he  might  have 
escorted  her  into  a  palace.  After  all,  it  stood  for 
that.  From  this  old  building  was  coming  the  where- 
withal to  build  the  Arkwright  house  which  was 


JOAN  &  CO.  341 

to  be  his  real  palace.  He  took  her  into  the  general 
offices  where  Burnett  used  to  sit  and  introduced 
her  to  Starling  —  a  clean-cut  young  fellow. 

"One  of  the  partners  in  the  firm,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

Starling,  with  a  batch  of  letters  in  his  hand, 
paused  long  enough  to  be  decent,  and  then  stepped 
over  to  Miss  Manning  who  sat  behind  her  machine 
in  a  corner  of  the  office.  In  another  minute  he  was 
dictating  and  she  was  watching  Miss  Manning's 
quick  fingers  taking  down  the  letters  in  short- 
hand. Devons  was  forced  to  call  her  twice  to  get 
her  attention. 

"We'll  begin  at  the  ground  floor  and  go  up," 
he  announced.  "I  want  you  to  see  it  all." 

So  they  went  down  again  to  a  big  room  filled 
with  kettles  where  a  half-dozen  men  stained  with 
black,  sticky  stuff  were  about  their  tasks.  It  was 
difficult  to  distinguish  one  of  them  from  another, 
but  as  she  watched  them  one  of  the  men  lifted 
his  head.  His  face  was  that  of  a  negro  minstrel. 
She  caught  her  breath  as  her  eyes  met  his.  He, 
too,  appeared  taken  aback  for  a  second  and  then 
he  grinned.  He  paused  only  long  enough  to  nod 
and  turned  to  his  work.  She  clutched  Devons's 
arm. 

"That  man  —  over  there?"  she  questioned. 

She  pointed  him  out  to  Devons,  but  the  latter 
only  shook  his  head. 


342  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  don't  know  one  of  them  from  another," 
he  answered.  "Some  of  them  are  Burnett's  men, 
and  I  believe  Starling  has  taken  on  one  or  two  new 
ones." 

"But  that,"  she  said,  —  "  that  is  Dicky  Burnett." 

"Don't  know  him,"  he  answered  indifferently 
and  started  on. 

But  she  left  his  side  and  hurried  over  to  Dicky 
Burnett  and  touched  his  arm  as  he  was  bending 
over  his  work. 

"Dicky!"  she  cried. 

He  looked  up. 

"Hello,"  he  answered. 

"You  —  what  are  you  doing  here?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"I've  taken  a  job  —  to  learn  the  business,"  he 
replied,  unabashed. 

"But  you  —  surely  that  was  n't  necessary?" 

"It  was,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  understand.  You  must  come  and  tell 
me  about  it.  You  must  come  this  evening." 

"I'm  afraid—" 

"No.  I  insist.  You  will  come  this  evening." 

"Very  well,"  he  consented.  "Only  —  " 

"I  shall  expect  you  at  eight.  You  promise?" 

"Yes." 

Devons  in  astonishment  had  reached  her  side. 
She  turned  back  with  him. 

"You  know  the  fellow?" 


JOAN  &  CO.  343 

"He  is  Mr.  Burnett's  son,"  she  answered.  "I  — 
oh,  it 's  all  so  topsy-turvy  I  want  to  go  home." 

"But  you  have  n't  seen  half." 

"I've  seen  enough,"  she  pleaded.  "I  want  to 
go  home." 


T^HEN 
T  v   imma 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

LOVE 

Dicky  strolled  in  at  eight,  his  old 
immaculate,  nonchalant  self,  it  was  hard 
for  her  to  believe  that  he  was  the  same  man  she 
had  seen  a  few  hours  before  smudge-covered  and 
in  greasy  overalls.  As  she  came  forward  excitedly 
to  greet  him,  her  big  eyes  were  full  of  questions. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  eagerly,  "from  the  be- 
ginning." 

His  own  eyes  took  fire  at  the  beauty  of  her. 
In  all  the  years  he  had  known  her  he  had  never 
seen  her  look  fairer.  She  was  all  she  had  ever  been 
at  her  best  and  something  more.  It  was  that 
something  more  that  puzzled  him.  It  was  as  though 
all  her  superficial  charms  had  suddenly  grown 
deeper  —  as  though  her  eyes,  always  deep,  had 
now  become  like  one  of  those  bottomless  lakes  in 
the  mountains,  and  her  lips,  always  tender,  had 
taken  on  the  infinite  tenderness  of  a  mother.  He 
had  come  prepared  to  put  all  the  past  behind  him, 
and  he  found  it  intensified. 

"I'd  rather  forget  it  all  —  with  you,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"Why?"  she  asked  directly. 

The  reason  was  that  he  felt  a  man  ought  never 


JOAN  &  CO.  345 

to  come  to  her  except  with  tales  of  success  —  with 
reports  of  good  fortune.  A  lady  does  not  care  to 
hear  from  her  knight  of  reversals.  And  yet  as  he 
looked  into  those  new  depths  he  found  it  difficult 
to  express  this  in  any  way  that  would  not  hurt 
her. 

"It  isn't  pleasant  reading,"  he  replied  awk- 
wardly. 

"You  are  ashamed?"  she  asked  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"No,"  replied  Dicky  quickly.  "Not  that." 

"Then  tell  me." 

He  sat  down  opposite  her  and  leaned  forward 
with  his  hands  clasped  over  his  knees.  He  wanted 
to  make  the  recital  as  brief  as  possible. 

"After  all,  it's  an  old  story,"  he  said.  "Dad 
took  a  turn  at  the  market  and  got  cleaned  out. 
It  was  necessary  to  cash  in  everything  to  pay  up. 
That  left  us  broke  so  we  moved  to  a  flat  in  Brook- 
lyn and  I  took  a  job  with  the  new  firm  to  learn 
the  business.  Now  tell  me  about  yourself.  How  did 
you  happen  to  drift  in  there?" 

"I  came  in  with  Mr.  Devons.  Don't  you  re- 
member him?" 

Dicky  squinted  his  eyes  a  moment. 

"  Seems  to  me  I  saw  him  somewhere  once." 

"He  was  at  the  house.  He  is  the  man  I  —  I 
almost  ran  over. " 

"Good  Lord,  is  that  the  fellow?" 


346  JOAN  &  CO. 

"He  is  the  man  for  whom  I  borrowed  the  money. 
Why,  he 's  a  partner  of  yours,  Dicky." 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"A  partner  of  mine?" 

"When  I  took  the  money  I  agreed  to  make  you 
a  silent  partner.  So  you  're  a  partner  of  mine  and 
a  partner  of  his.  You  and  I  have  between  us  a 
one-third  interest." 

Dicky  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  he  exclaimed.  "Then 
I  '11  be  able  to  pay  back  that  five  thousand  to  dad ! " 

"You  went  to  him  for  it?" 

"I  had  no  other  place  to  go." 

"You  can  pay  back  that  and  a  great  deal  more 
besides.  Why,  Mark  says  —  " 

"Mark?"  he  interrupted. 

The  color  came  to  her  cheeks. 

"Mr.  Devons,"  she  explained.  "He  expects  to 
make  his  fortune  on  his  share." 

"Then  dad  ought  to  make  half  a  fortune,"  he 
nodded. 

"Only  it 's  really  yours." 

"Mine?  I'd  have  a  nerve  to  claim  it.  Why,  it 
was  all  on  account  of  me  that  he  got  into  the 
hole." 

He  had  said  too  much  and  realized  it  the  next 
second  when  she  pressed  him  to  go  on. 

"Somehow,"  he  faltered  ahead,  —  "somehow 
dad  thinks  a  lot  of  me.  I  'm  sort  of  a  weakness  of 


JOAN  &  CO.  347 

his.  One  day  I  got  to  telling  of  something  I  wanted 
a  whole  lot  —  something  I  wanted  more  than  I  'd 
ever  wanted  anything.  So  what  does  he  do  but 
try  to  get  it  for  me.  He  figured  it  would  take  several 
million,  and  had  it  all  worked  out  on  a  pad  how  he 
could  get  that.  Only  he  did  n't  get  it.  Instead  the 
other  fellows  got  all  he  had.  I  guess  it 's  up  to  me 
now  to  return  what  I  can." 

"Was  what  you  wanted  —  as  valuable  as  all 
that?" 

"If  dad  had  made  all  he  set  out  to  make  and 
then  doubled  that,  what  I  wanted  would  have  been 
worth  it  and  more  if  I  could  have  got  it,"  he  an- 
swered earnestly. 

"  But  what— " 

"The  chance  has  passed,  anyway,"  he  concluded. 
"But  I  want  to  get  back  to  him  and  tell  him  about 
this.  He's  worried  and  that  interferes  with  his 
golf." 

Apparently  he  had  recovered  his  old  good- 
humor. 

"You  ought  to  see  dad  playing  golf,"  he  smiled. 
"He  has  taken  off  fifteen  pounds  already.  It's 
doing  him  a  world  of  good,  but  I  could  n't  see 
how  I  was  going  to  manage  it  much  longer  on 
twelve  dollars  a  week.  But  if  he's  going  to  get 
dividends  —  why,  he  thought  I  lost  that  five  thou- 
sand the  first  week!" 

"And  you?" 


348  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I  thought  so,  too,"  he  admitted. 

"You  —  you  didn't  have  much  confidence  in 
me,  Dicky." 

"Not  as  a  business  woman,"  he  confessed. 
"And  here  you  come  out  ahead  of  the  whole  crowd 
of  us." 

He  met  her  eyes  a  moment. 

"Joan,"  he  trembled,  "if  you  go  ahead  and  re- 
veal any  more  talents  or  anything,  I  won't  be 
able  to  stand  it." 

"Stand  what?"  she  demanded. 

"You.  Just  your  wonderful  self.  You  make  a 
man  dizzy." 

"But,  Dicky  —  "  she  began  gently. 

He  turned  away  from  her. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  abruptly.  "I  must  go." 

It 's  a  pity  that  he  did  not  look  once  again  into 
the  depths  of  those  eyes,  for  there  was  something 
in  them  at  that  moment  it  would  have  done  his 
soul  good  to  see. 

And  it  remained  there  as  she  sat  on  alone  long 
after  he  had  gone.  As  the  realization  of  what  it  was 
seeped  to  the  very  heart  of  her,  it  quickened  her 
pulse  and  glorified  her  face  until  she  felt  as  though 
suddenly  she  had  stepped  out  of  the  shade  into 
the  full  beat  of  the  living  sun.  For  a  little  while 
she  gave  herself  up  to  the  sheer  magic  warmth  of 
it  without  daring  to  look  about  —  without  daring 
to  give  it  a  name.  So  one  awakens  sometimes  in 


JOAN  &  CO.  349 

the  month  of  May,  scarcely  venturing  to  awaken 
fully  lest  the  celestial  chorus  of  bird  songs  and 
blossom  fragrance  and  the  springtime  radiance 
of  golden  light  vanish.  But  insistently  the  word 
she  tried  to  suppress  —  the  word  that  expressed 
it  all  —  worked  its  way  through  her  conscious- 
ness to  her  lips,  until  finally,  very  gently,  she 
whispered  it.  Such  a  tiny  word  it  was  to  mean  so 
much.  Such  a  soft,  tender  word  it  was  to  harbor 
such  creative  power.  Love!  One  could  pronounce 
it  between  heart-beats  on  the  tag  end  of  a  breath. 
A  sigh  took  more  effort.  And  yet,  when  once  pro- 
nounced, how  it  sent  her  blood  to  racing  —  how 
it  put  her  in  touch  with  the  stars  in  their  firma- 
ment, how  it  made  her  one  with  the  eternal  verities 
of  life,  even  of  death! 

She  rose  and  faced  him  where  he  had  been. 
With  her  head  back  and  her  two  arms  stretching 
out  unconsciously,  she  whispered,  "Dicky!" 

That  was  all  she  said,  and  yet  it  meant  as  much 
as  that  other  word.  The  two  words  meant  the  same. 
Love  was  one  word  and  Dicky  was  the  other. 
And  they  meant  the  same  thing.  They  stood  for 
the  same  thing.  They  were  synonymous. 

But  as  soon  as  she  admitted  this  her  cheeks 
turned  a  flaming  scarlet  and  she  looked  about  as 
though  afraid  of  being  seen.  She  raised  one  hand 
to  her  lips  as  though  cautioning  them  to  be  careful. 
Because  in  a  way  she  had  no  right  to  utter  his  name 


350  JOAN  &  CO. 

as  she  had.  He  had  said  nothing  of  love.  He  had 
come  at  her  bidding  and  hurried  away  as  soon 
as  he  could.  Once,  a  few  months  back,  he  had 
spoken,  but  she  had  silenced  him.  Much  had  hap- 
pened since  then.  Much  had  happened  to  them 
both. 

Her  thoughts  went  back  to  Dicky  as  he  had 
lifted  his  face  all  smudged  when  she  came  upon 
him  in  the  factory.  He  was  in  greasy  overalls. 
He  was  so  disguised  that  one  would  have  thought 
she  could  not  recognize  him,  and  yet  it  was  at 
that  moment  she  seemed  to  pierce  externals  to 
the  heart  of  him.  With  only  his  eyes  to  look  into, 
she  had  looked  so  far  into  them  that  she  had  come 
upon  the  man  himself.  Once  before  she  had  glimpsed 
this  man  —  when  uncovered  in  the  snow  he  had 
stood  by  the  door  of  the  limousine  and  sworn 
her  allegiance.  The  two  men  were  the  same.  The 
man  who  had  been  with  her  this  evening  was  the 
same. 

So  the  burn  left  kher  cheeks  and  she  raised  her 
head  again. 

To  herself  she  said : 

"Dicky,  I  can't  help  it.  Dicky,  I  —  I  love  you." 

It  was  a  pity  he  was  not  there  to  hear. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  DAY  COMES 

UNDER  the  spur  of  Hartley  and  Starling, 
Devons  found  himself  working  as  hard  as 
he  had  ever  worked  in  his  life.  In  the  flood  of 
new  orders  that  came  in  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
As  yet,  no  one  had  been  trained  to  do  his  work, 
so  that  it  meant  for  him  actual  supervision  of  the 
process  during  its  various  manufacturing  stages. 
Hartley  was  as  merciless  with  him  as  he  was  with 
himself.  Ten  hours,  fifteen  hours,  even  twenty 
hours  a  day  meant  nothing.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
at  the  end  of  two  weeks  they  had  a  night  shift  at 
work,  and  Hartley  often  remained  at  the  plant 
until  one  in  the  morning.  So  did  Starling  and  so 
did  Devons. 

"We  want  to  break  into  this  market  with  a  rush," 
said  Hartley.  "A  little  later,  when  we  are  firmly 
established,  we  can  lay  back  on  our  oars." 

This  left  Devons  little  time  for  Joan,  but  with 
the  assurance  that  came  each  day  at  the  nightly 
conference  with  Hartley,  who  went  over  in  con- 
ference with  him  the  new  business  of  the  pre- 
ceding twenty-four  hours,  it  seemed  less  and  less 
necessary  to  see  her.  Always  she  remained  in  the 
background,  and  he  rested  content  in  the  knowl- 


352  JOAN  &  CO. 

edge  that  hour  by  hour  he  was  strengthening  the 
guarantee  of  a  success  that  in  the  end  should 
make  her  his.  He  had  given  up  his  little  attic 
room  and  taken  an  apartment  in  a  rather  preten- 
tious hotel  more  convenient  to  the  plant.  On  the 
salary  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  week  that  Hartley 
had  suggested  was  fair  for  his  services,  there  was 
no  reason  in  the  world  why  he  should  not  make  the 
change.  This  gave  him  a  living-room,  a  bedroom 
and  bath.  In  what  time  he  could  spare  from  the 
factory  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  these 
new  quarters,  and  in  a  few  days  found  himself  con- 
sistently living  up  to  them  to  the  extent  of  drop- 
ping into  the  hotel  barber  shop  for  his  morning 
shave,  and  naturally  enough  strolling  from  there 
to  the  hotel  dining-room  for  his  breakfast.  It 
was  costing  him  as  much  a  day  as  formerly  it  did 
a  week,  and  yet  he  had  considerably  more  left 
over.  Some  of  this  he  deposited  in  the  bank  and  some 
of  it  he  converted  into  crisp  new  dollar  bills  which 
he  locked  up  in  his  dress-suit-case.  For,  though  he 
smiled  a  little  at  it  now  as  a  bit  of  eccentric  fool- 
ishness, he  still  clung  to  his  original  idea  of  going 
back  home  with  his  bulging  bag  of  money.  He 
could  have  put  it  more  conveniently  in  the  form 
of  a  check,  but  the  effect  would  not  have  been  the 
same.  A  bit  of  paper  bearing  a  signature  was 
neither  as  impressive  nor  as  dramatic  as  crisp 
new  bills.  Silver  would  have  been  even  better 


JOAN  &  CO.  353 

because  there  was  a  ring  to  it,  but  it  was  not  so 
easily  handled. 

The  strain  of  the  long  hours  began  to  tell  on 
Devons  at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  weeks.  He  held 
on  grimly  and  without  complaint,  but  the  past 
had  drawn  heavily  on  his  physique  and  the  un- 
usual mental  excitement  kept  him  awake  nights. 
Often  he  came  back  to  his  apartment  at  two  in 
the  morning  only  to  lie  awake  until  four  with  his 
brain  running  riot  over  Joan  and  home  and  the 
figures  that  to  Hartley  served  merely  as  a  tonic. 
Then  a  fitful  sleep  of  three  hours  and  he  was  up 
again. 

Hartley  did  not  understand  what  those  figures 
meant  to  Devons.  To  him  they  remained  merely 
figures.  He  did  not  translate  them  into  terms  of 
life.  Even  when  he  saw  in  them  the  prospect  of 
doubling  his  income,  that  meant  scarcely  more  than 
a  fresh  problem  of  reinvestment.  With  his  wants 
already  well  cared  for,  there  was  a  pleasant  satis- 
faction in  piling  up  a  larger  reserve,  but  it  was 
nothing  to  grow  breathless  about.  As  they  in- 
creased, the  dollars  became  more  and  more  ab- 
stract. 

But  Devons  was  still  in  the  concrete  stage  where 
every  dollar  stood  for  something  tangible.  To  see 
them  come  flooding  down  in  the  form  of  things 
for  her,  in  the  form  of  an  increasing  number  of 
bills  in  his  suit-case,  in  the  form  of  constantly 


354  JOAN  &  CO. 

increasing  additions  to  his  own  comfort,  was  a 
type  of  intoxication. 

He  held  on  during  the  long  days  of  June  until 
toward  the  end  he  found  the  kettles  and  the  ther- 
mostat begin  slowly  to  revolve  so  that  he  was 
forced  to  cling  to  something  to  keep  himself  up- 
right. He  held  on  when  at  night  he  heard  Hartley's 
voice  coming  as  from  a  distance  and  found  that 
he  remembered  nothing  of  what  he  said.  He  held 
on  when  at  odd  moments  he  found  himself  seized 
with  uncontrollable  fits  of  laughter.  He  held  on 
until  one  evening  he  reeled  and  fell  in  front  of 
Hartley. 

Devons  recovered  in  a  few  minutes,  and  Hart- 
ley escorted  him  to  his  apartments  and  sat  up 
with  him  the  rest  of  the  night.  Devons  protested, 
but  Hartley  sat  on  and  listened  to  his  hysterical 
chatter  and  watched  him.  In  the  morning  Hartley 
gave  his  verdict. 

"What  you'll  do  will  be  to  take  a  month's 
vacation,"  he  determined.  "Get  out  of  the  city. 
Go  back  home." 

"I'll  be  all  right  by  to-morrow." 

"You  won't." 

"But  I  can't  leave.  I  —  " 

"You  can  leave  as  well  as  not,"  answered 
Hartley.  "Starling  is  in  a  position  now  to  go  on 
with  your  work  with  the  help  of  the  men  you've 


JOAN  &  CO.  355 

trained.  You're  going,  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
You're  going  to-morrow.  I'll  make  out  a  check 
for  a  thousand  dollars  and  send  it  round  to  you. 
Don't  you  dare  step  into  the  factory  again  until 
you  come  back." 

Coming  from  Hartley  this  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  mandate.  It  left  him  nothing  else  to  do.  So, 
in  relief,  he  turned  over  and  slept  intermittently 
the  remainder  of  that  day  and  night.  He  woke  the 
following  morning  considerably  rested  and  with  a 
sense  of  exhilaration.  In  his  mail  he  found  his  check 
and  a  brief  note  from  Hartley. 

"Dear  Devons,"  it  read.  "Forget  the  plant  and 
have  a  good  time.  Everything  went  along  swim- 
mingly yesterday.  The  best  of  luck  to  you." 

He  was  on  a  vacation  —  the  first  vacation  for 
ten  years.  All  day  long  he  had  nothing  to  do  except 
what  he  wished  to  do.  And  he  was  going  home  — 
going  back  with  his  dress-suit-case  almost  filled 
and  enough  on  hand  to  quite  fill  it.  And  he  was 
going  to  see  Joan ! 

The  day  had  come.  There  was  no  reason  now 
why  he  could  not  go  to  her  and  claim  her.  Even 
on  the  basis  of  the  unfilled  orders  the  firm  had  at 
present,  there  would  be  ten  thousand  dollars  com- 
ing to  him  at  the  end  of  the  year.  The  chances  were 
that  this  would  be  doubled.  In  the  meanwhile  it 
might  be  possible  to  worry  along  on  his  present 
salary  as  long  as  there  was  the  assurance  of  the  fu- 


356  JOAN  &  CO. 

ture  dividends.  The  Arkwright  house  might  have 
to  wait  another  year  or  two,  but  this  would  give 
them  time  to  select  a  site  and  perfect  details. 

He  wanted  her  to  come  home  with  him  on  his 
first  visit.  Never  after  this  would  conditions  be 
the  same.  If,  in  addition  to  the  tangible  evidence 
of  his  business  success,  he  could  bring  her — then 
he  would  arrive  as  a  conqueror.  He  was  thinking 
of  himself — not  of  her  nor  of  the  home  folk. 
Always  he  occupied  the  center  of  the  stage. 
Perhaps  this  was  not  much  to  be  wondered  at. 
He  was  hungry  for  this  sort  of  thing.  For  ten  years 
he  had  been  starved  of  all  the  little  minor  suc- 
cesses that  come  to  most  men  —  that  lead  up  to 
the  final  big  success.  He  had  been  in  the  back- 
ground watching  enviously  those  at  the  fore. 
Now  it  was  his  turn  and  he  was  going  to  make 
the  most  of  it. 

He  dressed  carefully  that  morning  and  gave 
the  barber  carte  blanche  to  do  what  he  wished  with 
him.  Then  he  strolled  into  the  dining-room  and  ate 
a  leisurely  and  rather  elaborate  breakfast.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  the  day  of  which  he  had  so  long 
dreamed.  After  this  he  strolled  uptown  and  made 
several  purchases  —  among  them  a  box  of  flowers 
which  he  ordered  sent  to  her.  He  did  not  dare 
telephone  until  eleven,  and  then  he  begged  her 
to  lunch  with  him.  She  tried  to  avoid  the  engage- 
ment, but  he  was  insistent. 


JOAN  &  CO.  357 

"I'm  on  my  vacation,  Joan,"  he  said.  "I've 
looked  forward  to  this  a  long  time." 

There  was  a  note  of  pathos  in  his  plea  that  won 
her.  So  she  consented  to  be  ready  at  one. 

During  the  next  two  waiting  hours  he  walked 
slowly  downtown  and  back  along  Fifth  Avenue 
as  far  as  Washington  Square.  He  walked  proudly, 
swinging  a  light  stick  with  an  air.  There  were 
many  who  turned  to  look  at  him.  He  made  rather 
a  striking  appearance  in  his  smart  tailored  clothes. 
To  many  he  passed  as  a  bridegroom.  There  was 
an  atmosphere  of  confidence  and  prosperity  about 
him  that  made  him  seem  to  embody  something 
of  the  spirit  of  the  June  morning.  To  the  young 
men  he  established  a  sort  of  standard  and  to  the 
young  women  he  stood  for  a  dream. 

At  one  he  drove  up  to  the  Fairburne  house,  feel- 
ing buoyant  after  his  walk  and  showing  hardly 
any  effect  of  his  illness  of  the  day  before.  In  the 
magic  of  his  new  hopes  he  had  thrown  it  off. 

She  had  dressed  a  little  for  him  in  honor  of  the 
occasion  and  was  more  like  her  old  self. 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  to  have  a  rest,"  she  greeted 
him. 

"  I  guess  I  Ve  earned  it,"  he  answered. 

She  nodded. 

"Where  are  we  going?" 

"You're  to  follow  me  to-day,"  he  replied.  "I'm 
going  to  make  one  more  dream  come  true." 


358  JOAN  &  CO. 

"I'll  do  what  I  can  to  help  you,"  she  agreed. 

Yet  she  frowned  a  little  when  the  taxi  stopped 
before  Delmonico's.  Most  any  place  he  might  have 
chosen  would  have  been  preferable  to  that.  Still 
she  was  willing  to  humor  him  even  to  this  extent. 
After  all  this  was  his  vacation,  and  she  must  do 
what  she  could  to  start  him  on  it  happily. 

But  as  she  went  in  by  his  side  the  whole  place 
became  tensely  reminiscent  of  Dicky.  They  had 
come  here  together  the  last  time  they  had  gone 
anywhere  together.  They  had  been  here  many 
times  before  that.  It  had  become  so  associated  with 
him  that  she  felt  almost  disloyal  in  coming  with 
any  one  else.  And  somehow  Dicky  fitted  better 
here  than  this  man  now  with  her.  For  the  life  of 
her  she  could  not  tell  why,  but  Devons  appeared 
slightly  out  of  place.  As  they  moved  on  to  the  din- 
ing-room she  studied  him  and  wondered  why. 
As  far  as  his  personal  appearance  went,  he  was 
a  little  better-dressed  than  others  at  the  tables. 
Perhaps  that  was  it.  She  almost  expected  to  hear 
his  shoes  squeak. 

That  was  a  ridiculous  thought  —  so  ridiculous 
that  it  made  her  smile. 

He  was  quite  serious  about  ordering  the  lunch 
and  consulted  her  taste  in  everything.  Personally 
she  desired  nothing  but  a  salad  and  tea,  but  he 
was  insistent  upon  making  it  as  elaborate  as 
possible. 


JOAN  &  CO.  359 

"This  is  part  of  the  dream,"  he  reminded  her. 

So  before  he  had  more  than  begun  his  order 
he  had  converted  the  waiter  from  an  indifferent 
bystander  into  a  most  attentive  and  obsequious 
servant.  If  the  latter  had  been  asked  to  character- 
ize his  guest,  he  would  have  done  it  in  a  sentence. 

"Ranch-owner  from  the  West  on  his  honey- 
moon." 

This  was  at  the  moment  when  Devons  was  flat- 
tering himself  that  he  was  the  embodiment  of  New 
York. 

During  the  lunch,  of  which  she  ate  little,  he 
talked  again  of  the  factory  and  of  Hartley  and  the 
details  of  the  last  month.  Then  he  ran  on  to  the 
possibilities  of  the  future,  which  led  him  up  to 
Arkwright. 

"You  remember  him?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It  was  he  who  helped  fix  up  my  attic  for  you," 
he  reminded  her. 

"Oh,  the  big  fellow?" 

He  nodded. 

"He's  an  architect.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about 
the  house  he  designed?" 

"No." 

"  It 's  a  wonderful  house.  'Way  back  in  the  winter 
he  told  me  he  had  done  it  for  me.  It  was  a  joke 
then,  but  it  begins  to  look  as  though  it  might  turn 


360  JOAN  &*CO. 

In  detail  he  described  it  to  her,  watching  her 
eyes  to  see  if  she  responded.  At  least  she  appeared 
attentive. 

"That's  part  of  the  dream,  too,"  he  concluded. 
"  Some  day  I  'm  going  to  build  that.  Where  do  you 
think  we  ought  to  put  it? " 

She  started. 

"It  sounds  very  grand,"  she  answered.  "Would 
you  really  enjoy  that  sort  of  house?" 

"With  acres  of  land  around  it." 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  smiled.  "It  will  be  quite  a 
royal  estate." 

"Yes,"  he  answered  soberly.  "It  must  be  that 
—  for  you." 

"For  me!"  she  cried. 

"Did  n't  you  understand  that?" 

"No,  no,"  she  said  quickly. 

"Who  else  did  you  think  I  was  going  to  build 
it  for?" 

"I  —  I  don't  know.  You  —  we  mustn't  stay 
here  any  longer." 

The  orchestra  began  to  play  a  valse  hesitation. 
She  looked  about  in  alarm  —  as  though  in  search 
of  Dicky. 

"I  came  here  just  to  tell  you  these  things,"  he 
hurried  on.  "I  —  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased." 

"It's  all  my  fault!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  should 
jn.'t  have  come.  I  —  I  should  have  written  you  the 
truth  from  Atlantic  City." 


JOAN  &  CO.  361 

"The  truth?" 

"When  you  wrote  me  as  you  did.  I  won't  pre- 
tend. I  knew  then  you  were  coming  to  care  for 
me  —  in  a  way  that  was  impossible.  Only  I  did  n't 
want  to  hurt  you.  I  thought  that  if  I  said  nothing 
you  would  see." 

"See  what?" 

"That  — "she  hesitated. 

"That  you  don't  love  me?"  he  put  in. 

She  hung  her  head  as  though  ashamed. 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

He  leaned  forward. 

"After  all  these  months  that  I  have  been  work- 
ing for  you  ? " 

She  raised  her  head  at  that.  She  met  his  eyes. 

"You  thought  you  were  working  for  me,  but — • 
but  after  all  is  that  true?" 

"For  you!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "For  you  alone! 
From  the  first  week  you  were  so  kind  to  me  it  was 
that  and  nothing  else.  It's  been  part  of  the  dream — • 
the  biggest  part.  I've  looked  forward  to  taking 
you  home  with  me.  You  were  coming  back  to  the 
little  farm  as  my  wife.  I  was  to  be  so  proud  of 
you.  It's  true!  It  must  be  true!" 

"You  —  you  dreamed  those  things  all  by  your- 
self," she  warned. 

"Because  I  had  no  right  to  share  them  with  you 
until  I  had  made  good.  I  —  I  could  n't  talk  about 
such  things  in  an  attic,  could  I?" 


362  JOAN  &  CO. 

She  thought  a  second. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "And  yet  if  you  had  —  " 

"They  would  have  sounded  absurd,"  he  broke 
in.  "  I  had  to  wait  until  I  could  give  you  all  the 
things  you  deserved.  I  had  to  wait  until  now." 

"And  now,"  she  answered,  moving  back  her 
chair,  "we  must  n't  talk  about  them  any  more." 

"You  mean  you  won't  marry  me?" 

"It's  impossible,"  she  answered.  "I — I  don't 
love  you." 

"But  if  I  wait  a  little  longer  —  " 

"It  would  make  no  difference." 

She  was  firm  now.  She  was  direct.  She  felt 
this  must  be  over  with  at  once. 

"Don't  go  yet,"  he  pleaded  as  she  rose. 

But  she  stood  where  she  was  as  he  paid  his 
check.  Then  she  started  for  the  door.  He  took  her 
arm  —  holding  it  so  tightly  it  hurt. 

"Joan,"  he  choked.  "You're  spoiling  the 
dream." 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  answered.  "I'm  very  sorry." 

"Then  come  with  me.  Oh,  I'll  make  a  princess 
of  you.  I'll  work  all  my  life  to  get  you  things.  I 
want  so  to  buy  you  things." 

"You  only  make  it  worse,"  she  replied. 

They  had  reached  the  coat-room,  and  he  would 
have  gone  right  on  talking  like  that  had  she  not 
warned  him  of  the  eager  listeners.  Then  they 
were  outside  again  and  she  felt  freer,  though  he 


JOAN  &  CO.  363 

was  still  holding  her  arm.  She  herself  motioned 
for  a  cab. 

"You  must  n't  leave  me  like  this,"  he  muttered. 

She  held  out  her  hand  as  she  had  held  out  her 
hand  to  Dicky.  But  he  refused  to  take  it. 

"This  is  n't  right!"  he  cried. 

"It  is  necessary.  You  are  making  it  more  nec- 
essary every  minute." 

"I?  It's  you.  This  is  n't  fair  of  you." 

His  face  showed  both  fear  and  anger.  She  had 
never  seen  him  like  this.  She  was  sorry  to  have  to 
remember  him  like  this. 

"Mark,"  she  whispered,  "I  wanted  to  keep  you 
as  a  friend." 

He  laughed  harshly. 

"Friend?  After  what  I'd  planned!  But  I  might 
have  known!" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  "you  might  have 
known.  Good-bye." 

She  stepped  into  the  cab  and  closed  the  door. 
He  reached  for  the  knob,  but  she  gave  a  sharp 
order  to  the  driver.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned 
back.  It  was  not  so  Dicky  had  left  her. 

Where  was  Dicky?  She  needed  him  now. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

BACK  HOME 

DEVONS  went  from  Delmonico's  direct  to 
the  ticket-office  and  engaged  his  ticket  and 
parlor-car  accommodations  for  that  night.  With  a 
vicious  relish  he  took  an  entire  drawing-room.  Joan 
had  cheated  him  of  much,  but  she  should  not  cheat 
him  of  all  the  rest.  He  would  make  his  home- 
going  all  that  he  had  planned  with  the  exception 
of  her.  He  still  had  before  him  his  grand  entry, 
and  he  would  let  the  world  at  large  know  of  his 
success. 

He  took  a  cab  back  to  the  Avenue  and  stopped 
many  times  to  make  for  himself  some  of  the  pur- 
chases he  had  intended  to  make  with  her. 

He  bought  extravagantly  for  many  of  those  back 
home  he  had  scarcely  thought  of  since  he  left.  He 
took  a  fierce  delight  in  spending  his  money,  in 
converting  it  into  tangible  things  for  them  as  long 
as  there  was  no  one  else.  There  was  a  Marion 
Thompson  who  had  been  a  classmate  of  his  in 
the  district  school  and  who  was  now  teaching  in 
that  very  school.  She  was  a  subdued  sort  of  girl 
with  dreamy,  brown  eyes.  Until  this  moment  he 
had  almost  forgotten  her,  but  now  he  bought  for 
her  a  gold  necklace  just  because  it  occurred  to 


JOAN  &  CO.  365 

him  that  it  would  become  her.  He  paid  for  it  as 
much  as  her  salary  would  amount  to  in  six  months. 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  apartment  and  packed 
his  new  trunk  with  his  new  clothes  and  his  old 
suit-case  with  the  rest  of  the  new  bills  which  he 
had  stopped  at  the  bank  to  get.  He  had  pretty 
nearly  a  thousand  of  them.  And  all  this  time  he 
tried  to  put  Joan  entirely  out  of  his  mind,  al- 
though she  kept  coming  back.  And  every  time 
she  came  back  she  stung  him  anew  and  left  him 
with  a  sense  of  martyrdom.  The  phrase  he  used 
over  and  over  again  was  that  she  had  not  been  fair 
to  him.  She  had  turned  him  aside  exactly  as  though 
he  were  still  nothing  but  a  penniless  vagabond. 
She  did  not  appreciate  all  that  he  was  about  to 
do  for  her  —  closed  her  eyes  to  all  the  fair  dreams 
he  had  for  her.  But  he  did  not  intend  to  let  that 
spoil  his  holiday  nor  the  days  after.  She  would 
see  when  he  came  back.  She  would  see  and  pos- 
sibly regret. 

He  would  do  his  best  to  make  her  regret.  Here 
was  something  to  look  forward  to.  He  would  build 
his  house  exactly  as  he  had  it  in  mind.  People 
should  talk  about  it  as  the  "Devons  Estate."  She 
should  hear  of  it.  He  would  make  it  even  more 
pretentious  than  he  had  planned  and  she  should 
hear  of  it. 

He  knew  how  the  eyes  of  those  back  home  would 
pop  out  when  he  told  them  about  it.  Here  was 


366  JOAN  &  CO. 

something  more  to  look  forward  to.  When  it  was 
done  he  would  have  many  of  them  come  back  to 
see  it.  He  would  pay  their  fares  and  give  them  a 
holiday  they  would  remember  —  a  holiday  they 
would  talk  about  the  rest  of  their  lives.  Here 
was  something  pleasant  to  think  about.  Only  if 
he  were  taking  her  home  with  him,  there  would 
be  something  for  them  to  talk  about  at  once. 
If  he  could  have  brought  her  back  into  his  father's 
house  on  his  arm,  if  he  could  have  taken  her  through 
the  town  by  his  side  and  through  the  county  town, 
then  — 

He  was  forever  sliding  back  to  her.  He  must 
keep  her  out  of  his  mind  entirely.  It  would  be 
easier  as  soon  as  he  was  started.  So  he  paid  his 
bill  and  went  to  the  station  with  his  baggage  two 
hours  before  train  time. 

Devons  wired  ahead  from  Chicago,  and  at  the 
little  one-horse  station  where  he  stopped  he  found 
his  father  there  with  the  buckboard  to  meet  him. 
The  elder  Devons  was  a  tall,  spare  man  with  round- 
ing shoulders.  He  hesitated  a  second  before  coming 
up  to  shake  hands  with  the  prosperous  young  man 
who  strode  toward  him. 

"Hello,  Dad,"  said  Devons. 

"Hello,  Sonny,"  answered  Devons  senior  un- 
certainly. 

The  two  men  gripped  and  the  awkward  moment 


JOAN  &  CO.  367 

was  passed.  The  older  man  shouldered  the  new 
trunk  and  Devons  brought  up  the  suit-cases. 

"Strap  the  old  one  on  tight,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
want  to  lose  that."  * 

Then  he  got  on  the  seat  with  his  father  and 
hitched  up  his  trousers  to  preserve  the  crease, 
and  they  started  over  the  prairie  road.  It  was  hot 
and  dusty  and  the  old  buckboard  was  hard  riding 
after  the  Pullman.  The  father  said  little,  but  Devons 
inquired  after  every  one  and  listened  to  the  old 
familiar  stories  of  hard  luck  about  them.  They 
continued  in  an  endless  cycle  through  one  gen- 
eration after  another. 

"Marion  Thompson  —  you  remember  Marion  ? " 
said  his  father. 

"Surely." 

"She's  teaching  school  and  boarding  with  us." 

"Has  she  changed  much?" 

"Dunno's  she  has.  People  round  here  don't 
change  much." 

"In  New  York  they  change  in  twenty-four 
hours,"  remarked  Devons  with  a  frown. 

"I  s'pose  so.  You've  done  pretty  well  there, 
sonny?" 

"You  bet,"  replied  Devons  with  satisfaction. 

They  reached  the  old  farmhouse  at  last.  Dev- 
ons shuddered  as  he  saw  it.  It  looked  even  more 
like  a  hovel  than  when  he  had  left  it.  His  mother 
was  at  the  door  —  thin  and  hollow-eyed.  She 


368  JOAN  &  CO. 

came  out  and  kissed  him  dumbly.  If  he  had  not 
seen  her  like  this  all  through  his  youth,  he  would 
have  said  she  did  not  have  a  week  to  live.  Be- 
hind her  came  his  sisters  and  his  brothers,  and 
behind  them,  timidly,  a  slight  girl  with  dreamy 
brown  eyes.  This  was  Marion.  She  was  prettier 
than  he  expected.  She  was  in  a  simple  calico 
dress  that  hung  straight  over  a  slender  body. 
As  the  children  crowded  about  him  he  looked  over 
their  heads  and  met  her  eyes.  She  blushed  and 
shrank  back  a  little.  It  gave  him  a  sense  of  power. 
It  was  evident  she  was  terribly  afraid  of  him. 

They  all  made  their  way  into  the  tawdry  sit- 
ting-room which  showed  the  effect  of  a  very  recent 
and  thorough  cleaning.  Here  Devons  unfastened 
his  dress-suit-case,  spreading  it  open  upon  the 
center  table.  He  stood  back  exactly  as  he  had 
dreamed. 

"A  little  present  for  you  and  father,"  said  he 
to  his  mother. 

She  stared  open-mouthed  at  the  crushed  green 
bills.  She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  breast  and 
stared. 

"There'll  be  more  later,"  said  Devons.  "There'll 
be  plenty  for  you  all  the  rest  of  your  lives." 

"Mark!"  she  choked,  "be  they  real?" 

He  went  to  her  side  and  placed  his  arm  about 
her. 

"Lord  bless  you,  yes,"  he  assured  her. 


JOAN  &  CO.  369 

There  was  a  lump  in  his  own  throat.  He  knew  — 
well  he  knew  —  what  that  meant  to  them. 

Then  to  break  the  tension  he  unstrapped  his 
trunk  and  brought  out  what  he  had  for  the  others. 
As  he  handed  his  brothers  and  sisters  each  his 
present  there  was  an  excited  cry  of  joy  and  amaze- 
ment, but  through  all  the  confusion  he  saw  always 
that  slip  of  a  girl  in  the  rear  who,  big-eyed,  looked 
on  as  at  a  drama. 

He  kept  his  present  for  her  until  the  last.  When 
finally  he  stepped  to  her  side  she  could  not  believe 
her  eyes.  She  undid  the  box  with  trembling  fingers 
and  drew  out  and  held  up  the  pretty  gold  chain. 

"This  is  for  me?"  she  gasped. 

"Let  me  put  it  round  your  neck,"  he  answered. 

With  her  cheeks  a  deep  crimson  she  allowed 
him  to  do  as  he  wished  and  he  clasped  it.  His 
fingers  brushed  her  warm  skin  and  he  found  his 
cheeks  almost  as  hot  as  hers. 

"There,"  he  concluded,  "if  you  had  been  with 
me  I  could  n't  have  selected  anything  more  your 
own." 

"It  is  beautiful,"  she  murmured.  "Thank  you." 

There  was  a  mirror  on  the  side  of  the  wall. 

"Come  here  and  see  how  it  looks." 

She  obeyed.  He  stood  behind  her  and  in  the 
mirror  their  eyes  met.  He  saw  in  them  both  wonder 
and  admiration.  It  was  very  satisfying.  It  was  quite 
the  most  satisfying  feature  of  his  home-coming. 


370  JOAN  &  CO. 

That  evening,  after  all  the  children  had  gone 
to  bed  and  a  little  later  father  and  mother  had 
followed,  he  found  himself  sitting  on  the  steps 
with  Marion  by  his  side.  Together  they  looked  far 
across  the  level  country  and  at  the  stars  above 
it  —  so  very  far  above  it.  There  he  found  himself 
telling  her  the  story  of  these  last  ten  years  —  telling 
her  because  she  leaned  forward  tensely  and  listened 
as  children  listen  to  a  stirring  tale  of  adventure. 
In  contrast  to  the  gray  routine  of  her  own  life 
his  narrative  was  as  colorful  as  a  Turkish  rug. 
She  grew  quite  breathless  about  it.  So  he  covered 
the  years  up  to  the  new  developments  in  his 
business.  There  he  paused.  He  loved  the  telling 
of  it.  As  he  rambled  on  she  helped  him  to  forget 
all  the  dull  places  and  dramatized  for  him  all  the 
joyful  spots.  But  he  was  afraid  at  length  that  he 
was  tiring  her. 

"Go  on,"  she  pleaded. 

"I  think  you  would  like  New  York,"  he  said. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

In  her  voice  there  was  something  that  made  him 
feel  he  was  talking  of  ancient  Bagdad. 

"It 's  a  queer  city,"  he  said.  "Either  it  gets  you 
by  the  throat  and  crushes  you  back  to  the  pave- 
ment or  you  get  it  by  the  throat  and  make  it 
give  up  the  choice  things  of  the  world." 

"And  you  —  you  got  it  by  the  throat." 

"I  have  now,"  he  answered.  "I  wish  you  had 


JOAN  &  CO.  371 

been  with  me  as  I  went  up  and  down  Fifth  Avenue 
before  I  came  away.  You  would  have  known  then. 
And  when  I  get  back  —  " 

He  found  himself  telling  her  of  the  Arkwright 
house.  Only  he  elaborated  still  more  upon  it.  He 
embellished  it  with  a  dozen  new  features  he  thought 
of  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  sitting  there  by  her 
side,  looking  over  the  prairie.  She  responded  to 
them  all  with  a  little  gasp. 

"It's  wonderful!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  like 
magic." 

"When  it 's  done  I  want  to  have  a  house  party 
and  bring  you  all  on  to  see  it,"  he  exclaimed 
grandly. 

She  laughed  a  little  at  that. 

"I  can't  believe  I'll  ever  do  it,"  she  answered. 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

"I've  gone  on  day  by  day  so  long  that  I  can 
only  think  of  day  by  day." 

"You'd  like  to  get  away  from  here?" 

She  rose.  Her  arms  were  tense  by  her  side. 

"That 's  like  asking  if  one  would  like  to  get  out 
of  prison,"  she  answered. 

In  the  deepening  dusk  of  the  night  her  plain 
gown  became  blurred.  He  saw  only  her  girlish 
figure,  and  as  she  lifted  her  face  to  the  sky  her 
soft  lips  and  cheeks.  She  was  so  slender  and  eager 
and  responsive!  Here  was  one  who  would  add 
fresh  pleasures  to  all  he  had.  Here  was  one  whose 


372  JOAN  &  CO. 

eyes  would  stay  big  day  after  day  with  the  sights 
he  could  show  her.  Here  was  one  upon  whom  he 
could  spend  his  money  and  receive  his  reward  in 
palpitating  enthusiasm.  Here  was  one  who  stood 
ahungered  for  all  he  was  in  a  position  to  give. 
She  would  make  every  dollar  seem  like  ten.  By 
that  much  she  would  multiply  his  fortune  by  ten. 
That  other  —  ah,  here  was  one  who  might  make 
even  that  other  envious. 

She  turned  toward  the  house.  He  took  her  arm. 
Seized  with  a  sudden  passion  he  spoke  her  name. 

"Marion!" 

She  turned  back,  startled. 

"Marion,"  he  cried,  "come  back  with  me!  I 
want  you  with  me  to  share  all  these  new  things. 
By  to-morrow  or  next  day  I  '11  have  to  go.  I  thought 
I  should  stay  a  month,  but  I  want  to  get  back. 
You'll  come  with  me?" 

"You  —  you  mean  —  " 

"  I  want  you  to  marry  me.  The  next  three  weeks 
we'll  spend  in  New  York  on  our  honeymoon. 
We'll  start  on  the  house." 

"But,  Mark  —  "  she  trembled. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms.  He  kissed  her  lips. 

Breathless,  like  some  captured  bird,  she  felt 
her  heart  beat  against  his. 


i 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  LAST  ACT 

T  was  at  least  a  novelty  for  Joan  to  find  it 
impossible  to  get  hold  of  Dicky  when  the  desire 
seized  her  to  talk  with  him.  Under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances she  would  have  found  it  humiliating 
to  be  forced  to  accept  excuse  after  excuse  in  re- 
sponse to  her  messages  —  excuses  that  were  none 
too  adept.  It  began  to  seem  almost  as  though  he 
were  deliberately  avoiding  her.  But  even  in  that 
she  blamed  herself  and  justified  him.  After  all 
she  deserved  very  little  of  him.  In  the  hour  when 
he  had  needed  her,  she  had  turned  away  from  him, 
and  now  in  her  hour  of  need  he  was  repaying  her 
in  kind. 

For  she  did  need  him  very  much.  Her  mind^ 
was  all  topsy-turvy,  and  at  this  moment  he  seemed 
to  be  the  only  one  who  could  help  her  straighten 
it  out,  because  somehow  her  thoughts  all  revolved 
about  him.  She  found  herself  awakening  in  the 
morning  to  thoughts  of  him.  Every  day  since 
Devons  had  left  had  begun  that  way.  Whether 
the  sun  was  shining  and  the  world  in  tune  with  the 
singing  of  birds  or  whether  the  sky  was  dark  and 
the  rain  beating  down,  she  felt  that  she  must  see 
Dicky  in  order  to  get  a  fair  start.  It  was  as  though 


374  JOAN  &  CO. 

her  life  were  marking  time  for  him.  There  was  no 
especial  point  in  getting  up,  but  neither  was  there 
any  especial  point  in  lying  in  bed.  Without  him 
the  forenoon  had  no  particular  significance,  neither 
had  the  afternoon  and  evening.  It  was  a  frame 
of  mind  she  would  have  found  absurd  in  any  one 
else. 

Yet  she  was  not  the  least  bit  ashamed  of  it  in 
herself.  Rather  she  gloried  in  it.  She  accepted  it 
in  a  way  as  a  sort  of  purgatory.  And  always  she 
admitted  with  utter  frankness  her  love  for  him. 
She  attempted  no  subtlety  on  that  point.  She 
allowed  no  quibbling  on  the  ground  of  maidenly 
reserve.  She  loved  him  honestly  and  whole- 
heartedly and  from  the  depths.  She  faced  that 
truth  with  raised  head  —  with  pride.  The  fact 
that  he  had  once  asked  her  to  marry  him  gave  her 
a  certain  privilege,  but  even  without  this  it  would 
have  been  the  same.  After  all,  such  a  thing  as  this 
was  no  more  to  be  denied  because  of  the  con- 
ventions than  the  matter  of  her  age  or  the  color 
of  her  eyes.  Either  it  was  or  it  was  not.  If  one  were 
honest  one  admitted  the  truth  at  all  times. 

And  this  love  was  no  mere  abstract  mental 
condition.  It  was  a  very  personal  and  vital  and 
altogether  human  love.  She  was  by  no  means  con- 
tent to  let  it  rest  where  it  was ;  to  fold  her  hands 
like  the  maidens  of  her  mother's  day  and  if  need 
be  to  wait  and  pine  away  in  loneliness. 


JOAN  &  CO.  375 

Because  she  loved  Dicky  she  wanted  him. 
She  wanted  to  see  him  —  to  be  with  him.  She 
wanted  to  share  his  days  with  him.  She  especially 
wanted  to  share  these  present  days  with  him.  He 
was  going  to  work  now  at  seven  in  the  morning 
he  had  told  her.  With  an  hour  out  for  lunch  he 
toiled  until  five  and  then  went  home  dog-tired. 
It  was  to  her  he  should  come  when  dog-tired.  She 
should  have  had  the  privilege  of  relieving  his 
weariness.  She  could  have  kissed  him  all  smutched 
as  he  might  be.  It  was  when  the  rest  of  him  was 
almost  unrecognizable  that  she  had  seen  into  his 
eyes.  What  she  had  seen  there  then  she  craved. 
It  was  the  sweet  soul  of  the  man  —  the  very 
gallant  knight  in  the  man. 

Why  did  he  not  come  to  her?  Day  after  day  for 
a  week  she  asked  herself  that  and  received  no 
answer.  And  day  after  day  as  she  dwelt  alone 
with  her  love  it  burned  away  all  the  old  barriers 
and  gathered  heat  with  what  it  fed  upon.  The 
need  of  him  became  acute,  so  at  the  end  of  a  long 
day  it  resolved  itself  into  action. 

Half-frightened  by  her  new  boldness,  she  rang 
up  Dicky's  mother  at  the  little  apartment  in 
Brooklyn. 

"Please,"  she  said,  "will  you  ask  me  to  dinner 
to-night?" 

"Why,  my  dear,"  came  the  gentle  voice,  "we 
should  be  delighted.  We  have  dinner  at  six  because 


376  JOAN  &  CO. 

both  Dicky  and  his  father  are  very  hungry  when 
they  get  home." 

"Then  —  may  I  come  a  little  early?" 

"Come  as  soon  as  you  wish." 

So  that  much  was  accomplished  without  any 
particular  harm  to  any  one.  It  is  surprising  what 
may  be  accomplished  in  violation  of  all  rules  if 
one  has  an  honest  purpose  and  a  clean  heart. 

She  changed  her  gown  into  a  simple  white 
summer  dress  and  hurried  down  to  tell  her  mother. 

"I'm  going  to  have  dinner  to-night  with  the 
Burnetts,"  she  said. 

"Very  good,"  answered  Mrs.  Fairburne.  "I'm 
glad  you  are  going  out." 

Charles  left  her  at  the  unpretentious  apartment 
house  in  the  quiet  street  at  five,  and  a  few  moments 
later  she  had  mounted  to  the  third  floor  and  was 
facing  the  door  which  bore  a  card  reading  "Mr. 
Joshua  Burnett."  Mrs.  Burnett  herself  came  in 
response  to  her  ring,  and  without  apology  and  with 
sincere  friendliness  welcomed  her  in. 

"I  am  doing  the  cooking  myself,"  she  explained 
as  soon  as  Joan  had  removed  her  hat.  "It  seems 
real  good  to  be  able  to  do  it  again.  Both  of  the 
men  seem  to  like  it,  too." 

Joan  insisted  upon  accompanying  her  into  the 
tiny  kitchen  and  there  she  tried  her  best  to  find 
something  to  do.  But  as  she  watched  the  sure, 
practiced  hands  busy  about  their  tasks,  she  felt 


JOAN  &  CO.  377 

quite  helpless  and  useless.  There  was  nothing  left 
but  to  sit  back  and  keep  out  from  under  foot 
and  watch.  Suddenly  she  realized  that  she  was 
accepting  this  rather  startling  change  in  the  for- 
tunes of  the  Burnetts  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way. 
It  was  almost  as  though  there  had  been  no  change 
at  all.  And  that  was  because  she  thought  only  of  the 
little  woman  herself  and  not  of  her  surroundings 
or  her  tasks.  She  was  the  mother  of  Dicky  wher- 
ever she  was.  Here  preparing  his  dinner  she  was 
more  than  ever  that.  Only  it  was  not  right  for  the 
older  woman  to  be  doing  this.  She,  Joan,  should 
be  doing  it  for  her. 

"I  wish  you  would  show  me  how  to  do  all  these 
things,"  she  said. 

"Haven't  you  ever  learned  to  cook?"  replied 
Mrs.  Burnett,  in  astonishment. 

"No,"  admitted  Joan  with  a  touch  of  color. 

"Then  it's  certainly  time  you  did  learn,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Burnett.  "But  my  way  of  cooking  is 
all  for  Mr.  Burnett  and  Dicky." 

"I  should  like  to  learn  that  way,  too,"  breathed 
Joan. 

It  was  the  tone  of  the  girl's  voice  that  made  Mrs. 
Burnett  glance  sharply  at  her.  Then,  while  she 
looked,  she  saw  the  young  cheeks  grow  a  deeper 
and  deeper  scarlet,  though  she  did  not  speak  a 
word.  The  eyes  held  steady,  but  perhaps  the  lips 
trembled  the  slightest  bit,  partly  in  fear,  partly 


378  JOAN  &  CO. 

in  a  mute  plea  for  sympathy.  That  was  only  for  a 
second  because  Mrs.  Burnett  stepped  closer,  her 
face  radiant. 

"You  mean  you  —  you  care  for  Dicky?"  she 
asked  tenderly. 

Joan  rose,  breathing  rapidly.  She  tried  to  an- 
swer, but  her  lips  remained  dumb.  So  she  just 
nodded. 

The  mother  of  Dicky,  her  hands  all  flour- 
covered  as  they  were,  took  the  girl  into  her  arms. 
She  kissed  the  rich  dark  hair,  murmuring; 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  —  so  glad." 

"Only,"  whispered  Joan  brokenly,  "I  —  I  don't 
know  if  Dicky  cares  for  me." 

"That's  for  Dicky  to  tell  you,"  answered  Mrs. 
Burnett.  "But  I  think  all  you'll  have  to  do  is  to 
give  him  the  chance." 

That  evening  Joan  had  the  honor  of  setting  the 
table  for  Dicky.  Incidentally  she  set  it  for  the 
others,  but  they  did  not  count  for  very  much,  not 
even  herself.  The  table  was  set  for  Dicky  alone  as, 
if  the  truth  were  known,  the  dinner  was  cooked 
for  Dicky  alone.  Even  when  Mr.  Burnett  came  in, 
ruddy  and  tired  after  his  afternoon  at  the  country 
club,  he  did  not  seem  very  important. 

"Has  n't  Dicky  come  home  yet?"  were  his  first 
words. 

"  It  is  n't  quite  time,"  answered  Mrs.  Burnett. 
"You  have  n't  spoken  to  Miss  Fairburne." 


JOAN  &  CO.  379 

He  had  not  seen  her.  Now  he  took  her  hand  and 
bowed  politely,  at  the  same  moment  reaching  for 
his  watch. 

"It's  quarter  of  six.  He  was  here  last  night  at 
this  time." 

"Now  you  go  get  ready,"  urged  Mrs.  Burnett. 
"What  was  your  score  to-day?" 

"Made  it  in  a  hundred,"  he  answered  proudly. 

As  he  disappeared,  Mrs.  Burnett  attempted  a 
weak  apology  for  him. 

"He  acts  just  as  silly  as  that  every  time  the  boy 
is  n't  here  when  he  gets  home." 

It  was  not  five  minutes  later  that  Dicky  did 
come  in  with  something  in  his  hand  that  looked 
very  much  like  a  lunch-box.  Joan,  whether  de- 
liberately or  not  cannot  be  said  with  certainty,  was 
standing  very  near  the  door.  At  sight  of  her  Dicky 
appeared  to  be  frozen  in  his  tracks. 

"  I  'm  —  I  'm  here  to  dinner,"  explained  Joan. 

"  But  how  —  " 

"Your  mother  invited  me,"  she  faltered  on  as 
though  she  really  found  it  necessary  to  account 
for  herself. 

"Good  for  mother! "  he  exclaimed.  "Why  —  why 
I  'm  darned  glad  to  see  you." 

"Thank  you,  Dicky.  You'd  better  get  ready. 
It's  almost  cooked." 

"Dad  home?" 

"He 's  waiting  for  you,"  she  answered. 


380  JOAN  &  CO. 

From  the  kitchen  came  his  mother's  voice. 

"He 's  gone  to  tidy  up." 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  time  to  shave  if  there's 
company,"  he  called  back. 

Joan  had  turned  to  put  the  finishing  touches 
to  the  table.  He  followed  her  a  little  way.  Then 
he  stopped.  He  felt  like  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"Joan,"  he  said. 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"I'm  awful  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

It  was  not  an  especially  poetic  speech,  but  it 
made  her  heart  jump.  Nor,  all  through  the  dinner, 
was  the  conversation  of  a  character  to  be  worth 
recording.  It  was  significant  neither  for  its  wit 
nor  wisdom  and  yet  every  one  appeared  happy. 
After  the  dinner  Joan  insisted  that  Mrs.  Burnett 
retire  to  the  sitting-room  with  her  husband  and 
leave  the  clearing-up  to  her  —  and  to  Dicky  if  he 
cared  to  help. 

"You  betcha,"  agreed  Dicky. 

So  after  the  table  was  cleared,  Dicky  found  him- 
self in  the  little  buttery  engaged  in  the  task  of 
wiping  dishes,  while  Joan  in  a  long  apron  of  his 
mother's  washed  them.  Even  here  the  dialogue  did 
not  sparkle.  He  had  a  feeling  that  there  was  some- 
thing he  did  not  understand,  which  was  quite  cor- 
rect. There  was  a  mystery  about  her  presence. 
He  was  not  quite  clear  how  his  mother  happened 
to  ask  her  and  still  less  clear  how  she  happened  to 


JOAN  &  CO.  !  381 

accept.  If  he  had  been  consulted  beforehand  he 
would  have  advised  against  any  such  invitation. 
He  would  have  said  that,  under  the  circumstances, 
it  might  place  her  in  a  position  where  she  would 
not  feel  at  liberty  to  refuse.  She  had  been  wonder- 
fully decent  through  these  last  few  weeks  —  won- 
derfully decent.  She  had  extended  invitation  after 
invitation  to  him  which  he  had  turned  down  be- 
cause he  felt  that  she  was  making  an  especial 
effort  to  be  nice  to  him  in  what  she  thought  his  ad- 
versity. In  a  way  she  pitied  him,  though  he  did 
not  pity  himself  in  the  slightest.  Still  it  was  nec- 
essary to  recognize  the  fact  that  there  had  been 
a  change  in  his  circumstances.  As  a  laborer  work- 
ing for  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  he  was  in  an  entirely 
different  position  in  regard  to  her  than  he  had  been 
a  month  ago.  He  had  enough  faith  in  himself  to 
believe  this  was  only  temporary,  but  while  such 
conditions  existed  they  were,  that  was  all  there 
was  about  it.  Hartley  had  already  recognized  his 
ability  to  the  extent  of  making  him  foreman  of  the 
room.  In  six  months  or  a  year  he  might  be  put  on 
the  road,  and  from  that  point  he  could  climb  as 
high  as  he  was  able.  But  he  had  no  right  to  ask  her 
to  gamble  on  any  such  prospects.  Her  life  was 
based  on  certainties.  There  was  nothing  contin- 
gent about  the  Fairburne  income  and  he  had  no 
right  to  offer  her  anything  less.  A  man  would  be 
a  cad  to  allow  such  a  woman  as  she  to  run  any 


382  JOAN  &  CO. 

chances.  She  must  be  made  as  secure  as  papers  in  a 
safe  deposit  vault.  He  was  as  yet  far  from  a  point 
where  he  could  offer  her  that. 

All  this  was  what  the  reasoning  part  of  him  said, 
but  at  the  very  same  time  his  heart  kept  running 
counter  to  it.  Every  time  he  reached  for  a  dish  and 
by  that  much  came  nearer  to  her  soft  arm  revealed 
to  the  elbow  by  her  rolled-up  sleeves,  his  heart 
said,  "Go  a  little  nearer."  Then  it  was  necessary 
to  step  back  quickly  in  fear  lest  he  yield  to  the 
temptation.  For  the  heart  of  him  was  a  very  vaga- 
bond for  carelessness  and  laughed  to  scorn  all  his 
best  arguments. 

"Take  her,"  it  said,  "for  by  all  the  laws  of 
love  she's  yours.  You've  known  her  now  since 
you  were  schoolmates  together,  and  there  has  n't 
been  a  day  in  all  that  time  when  you  haven't 
known  that  she  was  the  biggest  thing  in  your  life. 
There  has  n't  been  a  time  when  you  would  n't 
have  been  willing  to  lay  at  her  feet  all  the  most 
precious  things  of  your  life  —  including  life  it- 
self. You've  tried  her  through  your  prosperous 
days  and  it  was  like  that.  You  went  away  from  her 
and  it  remained  like  that.  She  went  away  from 
you  and  it  was  just  the  same.  Now  in  this  sudden 
shift  of  your  fortunes  there  is  no  change  in  your 
love.  If  anything  you  love  her  more  than  you  ever 
did  because  you  need  her  more.  You  need  her  to 
give  point  to  your  ambitions,  Yo\}  need  her  to 


JOAN  &  CO.  383 

give  you  respite  from  the  sheer  drudgery  of  your 
labors.  You  need  her  in  a  thousand  new  ways. 

"Here  she  is.  Take  her.  The  two  of  you  are  here 
alone  and  you  have  only  to  look  into  her  eyes  to 
know  you  have  better  than  a  sporting  chance." 

But  because  he  wanted  her  —  even  because  he 
needed  her  —  was  no  reason  why  he  should  ask 
for  her,  replied  the  cold-blooded,  reasoning  part 
of  him.  Merely  because  he  wanted  the  crown 
jewels,  did  that  justify  him  in  seizing  them?  Men 
called  that  larceny.  It  was  then  a  worse  larceny 
to  make  off — provided  always  that  were  pos- 
sible—  with  something  infinitely  more  valuable. 
Compared  with  the  pure  radiance  of  her  soul  the 
crown  jewels  were  but  so  many  baubles  of  colored 
glass.  He  must  keep  a  tight  grip  on  himself  or  he 
would  land  in  a  jail  of  his  own  making. 

In  the  meanwhile  Joan  went  on  with  the  washing 
of  her  dishes  as  though  she  had  no  other  concern. 
And  though  she  tried  now  and  then  to  open  the  con- 
versation on  general  topics,  she  did  not  get  very 
far.  Had  it  not  seemed  disloyal  to  harbor  such  a 
thought,  she  would  have  said  that  Dicky  was 
stupid  this  evening.  At  times  it  seemed  almost 
worse  than  that  —  as  though  he  were  bored  with 
having  her  here.  And  the  pitiful  part  of  it  all  was 
that  with  both  of  them  attending  strictly  to  busi- 
ness the  work  was  being  completed  at  such  a 
rapid  rate  that  it  was  soon  only  a  matter  of  minutes 


384  JOAN  &  CO. 

before  it  would  be  done  and  they  would  both  be 
back  again  in  the  sitting-room.  Then  Lord  only 
knew  when  there  would  be  another  such  oppor- 
tunity. Fate  sometimes  plays  strange  tricks  and 
in  the  space  of  a  single  evening  erects  barriers  that 
last  a  lifetime.  It  is  difficult  to  foretell  what  is 
going  to  happen  from  one  minute  to  the  next. 

So  they  came  to  the  last  dish  and  he  was  left 
quite  helpless  with  the  dishcloth  in  his  hands. 
I    "Hang  it  up  nicely  on  the  rack  over  the  stove," 
she  said. 

He  did  that.  She  turned  and  washed  her  hands. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  guess  we're  all  through 
now." 

She  undid  her  apron  and  hung  it  up.  Then  she 
began  to  roll  down  her  sleeves.  To  him  it  was  like 
a  slowly  descending  curtain.  It  was  the  last  act 
of  the  play. 

When  she  had  done  that  there  was  no  further 
excuse  for  their  remaining  there.  She  looked  at 
him,  and  as  her  eyes  caught  his  the  old  telltale 
color  flooded  back  to  her  cheeks.  They  faced  each 
other  like  that  a  moment.  Then  from  somewhere 
deep  came  a  little,  stifled  cry. 

He  gripped  his  jaws. 

"Oh,  Dicky!"  she  repeated. 

And  again,  as  once  before,  the  name  was  but  a 
synonym  for  love.  He  heard  it  this  time  and  reason 
fled  from  him.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  with- 


JOAN  &  CO.  385 

out  a  single  word  kissed  her  lips.  He  kissed  them 
with  the  world  swimming  about  him  —  kissed 
them  with  a  kiss  that  made  them  eternally  one. 

In  the  due  course  of  time  —  as  far  as  they  were 
concerned  there  was  no  longer  any  such  thing  as 
time  —  they  came  back  to  the  sitting-room. 

"Seems  to  me  it  took  you  a  long  time  to  finish 
those  dishes,"  said  Burnett. 

But  Mrs.  Burnett  raised  her  eyes  questioningly 
to  Joan.  Then  she  smiled  and  went  to  her  son  and 
kissed  him. 

Said  Burnett  senior  a  little  later  in  the  evening 
as  they  were  discussing  ways  and  means  in  a  com- 
mittee of  the  whole: 

"Of  course,  it's  all  nonsense  to  talk  about  Dicky 
having  only  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  What's  mine 
is  his.  And  if  there 's  anything  in  the  prospect  of 
that  little  investment  of  his  panning  out  to  the  ex- 
tent of  ten  thousand  a  year,  it  belongs  to  him.  I 
loaned  him  the  money  and  when  he  gets  ready  he 
can  pay  that  back.  I  did  n't  look  upon  it  then  as 
an  investment,  but  charged  it  in  my  books  against 
profit  and  loss,  so  I  don't  see  why  I  should  claim 
it  now." 

Dicky  jumped  to  his  feet  and  clapped  his  father 
on  his  back. 

"Why,  you  real  old  sport!"  he  exclaimed. 

But  Joan  stole  up  to  the  father  and  placed  one 
arm  about  his  neck  and  whispered  in  his  ear.  The 


386  JOAN  &  CO. 

others  did  not  hear  what  she  said.  They  never 
heard.  It  remained  one  of  the  mysteries  of  Dicky's 
whole  life.  It  was  a  secret  between  Joan  and  Bur- 
nett. As  such  it  really  is  even  to-day  the  concern 
of  no  one  else  in  the  wide  world. 

However,  if  any  one  chooses  to  be  impertinent 
enough  to  read  the  last  sentence,  what  she  said 
was  this: 

"You  old  dear,  don't  you  go  and  spoil  it  all. 
Please  don't  let  him  have  that  money.  I  want  him 
just  as  he  is." 


THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  3  .  A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBR, 


000037103     9 


